1 1 


i  L 


DIGGING  THE  TOP  OFF 


BY 


EMMA  HILDRETH  ADAMS, 

AUTHOR  OF  To  AND  FRO    IN  SOUTHERN  CALIFORNIA,  AND  UP  AND  DOWN 

IN  OREGON  AND  WASHINGTON,  WITH  SKETCHES  IN  ARIZONA, 

NEW  MEXICO,  AND  BRITISH  COLUMBIA. 


THIRD   EDITION. 


SAN  FRANCISCO. 

PACIFIC  PRESS  PUBLISHING  COMPANY. 
1892. 


Copyright  by 

EMMA    H1LDRETH    ADAMS, 
1887. 


Bancroft  Ubmy 


C0NTENTS. 


DIGGING  THE  Tor  OFF.  >r> 

BEES.  OR  SII.K WORMS? 52 

THE  BUSINESS  or  LIFE  " 81 

Hoops  AN i)  HANDLES 105 

ZENAS  PRICE. 12<; 

CLINTON  MATHKNVS. 141 

THE  BURRO, 158 


I. 


TOP  OFF. 


JOE,"   called    Captolia,   the   colored   girl, 
from    the  kitchen   door-way,    "  bring   a 
lump  of  coal  for  the  parlor  grate ;  quick 
as  you  can." 

"All  right,"  shouted  Joe,  from  the  wood- 
shed across  the  yard.     After  Captolia  closed 
the  door,  the  boy  dealt  a  half-dozen  terrific 
blows  upon  the  ton  of  black  carbon  lying  be- 
fore him,  thickly  covered  with  ice  and  snow. 
u  Quick  as  you  can,"   means   instantly,  or   any 
time  hence,  according  to  the  circumstances ;  and 


6  DIGGING  THE  TOP  OFF. 

in  Joe's  case,  on  that  wintry  afternoon,  it  meant, 
whenever  he  got  ready.  The  lad's  six  herculean 
strokes  failed  to  break  up  even  the  thick  coat 
of  ice,  and  much  more  to  sever  the  large  blocks 
of  coal,  which  Joe's  employer  had  bought  "just 
to  give  the  chap  something  to  do  breaking 
them  up." 

As  this  story,  in  its  leading  incidents,  is  a 
true  one,  perhaps  I  had  better  describe  Joe  Por- 
ter, who  is  living  to-day,  grown  to  manhood,  in 
one  of  our  large  western  cities. 

In  appearance  he  was  a  most  unpromising 
lad.  His  face  was  very  ruddy,  and  nearly  as 
round  as  a  plate.  His  eyes  always  half  shut, 
gave  him  a  drowsy  and  peculiar  look.  They 
made  him  seem  far  away;  and  in  speaking  to 
him  one  felt  as  if  he  must  shout  to  make  him 
hear.  His  movements  were  so  sluggish  that  the 
snail  could  readily  claim  kinship  with  him. 

Among  his  associates  this  characteristic  had 
obtained  for  the  boy  the  title  of  "  Slow  Joe.'* 


DIGGING  THE  TOP  OFF.  1 

He  wore  shoes  heavily  soled,  and  much  too  large 
for  his  feet;  and  he  walked  with  an  almost  gi- 
gantic tread.  On  his  head  stood  a  crop  of  brown 
hair,  as  abundant  as  ever  was  seen. 

Joe's  battle  with  the  ice  and  coal  lasted 
longer  than  he  wished,  and  altogether  too  long 
for  Mrs.  Artwell's  patience.  Consequently,  in  a 
short  time  Captolia  again  appeared  in  the  door- 
way, declaring: 

"Joe,  that  coal  must  be  brought  in.  Hurry, 
once  in  your  life." 

"Well,  I  can't  take  it  in  yet,"  answered  Joe. 
"  I  have  to  dig  this  top  off  first." 

Captolia  fairly  flew  to  Mrs.  Artwell  with 
this  reply.  Said  that  lady:  "Tell  the  boy 
there  are  many  things  in  this  world  from  which 
the  top  has  to  be  dug  off  as  a  first  step,  and  he 
is  one  of  them." 

The  girl,  nimble  as  a  deer,  lost  not  a  moment 
in  delivering  that  message  to  Joe,  for  whom 
she  entertained  a  feeling  of  supreme  contempt, 


8  DIGGING  THE  TOP  OFF. 

because,  as  she  daily  affirmed,  "  there  is  no  snap 
in  him."  Captolia,  herself,  was  all  snap. 

"Many  things  from  which  the  top  needs  to 
be  dug  off,"  soliloquized  Joe,  after  Captolia  had 
closed  the  door  with  a  snap,  "and  I'm  one  of 
them!  If  that's  so,  what's  the  top  on  me? 
And  who's  going  to  dig  it  off?  Will  it  take  an 
instrument  as  sharp  as  this  ax  ?  And  blows  as 
heavy  as  I'm  giving  this  coal?  Whew!  I  be- 
lieve Mrs.  Artwell  has  taken  the  top  off  me, 
already." 

By  some  inscrutable  process,  the  lady's  care- 
less words  had  set  Joe's  blood  to  flowing  rap- 
idly;  had  driven  sudden  vigor  into  his  arms;  in 
fact,  had  aroused  the  whole  boy.  Joe  felt  the 
change.  What  produced  it  he  never  dreamed. 
But  more  swiftly  now  fell  the  strokes  upon  the 
black  fuel,  and  soon  the  great  block  lay  scat- 
tered about  in  pieces  which  he  could  lift  quite 
easily. 

"There!"  he  said,  "the  next  time  I  contract 


DIGGING  THE  TOP  OFF.  9 

to  hammer  away  like  that,  upon  the  great  coal 
deposit  of  North  America,  I'll  bargain  that  it 
shall  first  be  changed  into  diamonds,  and  then 
I'll  work  upon  it  with  a  nicer  instrument  than 
this  ax." 

With  some  effort  Joe  raised  a  lump  from  the 
ground,  carried  it  into  the  house,  and  laid  it  on 
the  grate.  His  immense  shoes  were  loaded  with 
ice  and  snow.  Mrs.  Art  well  observed  them  im- 
mediately. So  did  Joe — through  her  eyes.  In- 
stantly he  thought  she  associated  them  with  the 
top  which  ought  to  come  off.  He,  himself,  did  ; 
but  what  the  connection  was  he  could  n't  tell. 

It  was  barely  five  o'clock  of  a  gray,  cold 
afternoon,  yet  Mrs.  Art  well  had  already  lighted 
the  gas,  and  now  sat  near  the  drop-light,  reading. 
The  room  was  ornamented  with  many  bright 
articles,  and  in  Joe's  estimation  was  a  beautiful 
place.  At  her  throat  the  lady  had  fastened  a 
scarlet  rose.  Her  attire  was  black.  Her  black 
hair  and  dark  eyes  reflected  the  light,  and  alto- 


10  DIGGING  THE  TOP  OFF. 

gether  her  appearance  was  so  engaging  that,  as 
Joe  was  leaving  the  room,  he  turned,  at  the  door, 
and  looked  at  her  admiringly. 

"  It  does  make  a  difference,  there 's  no  mis- 
take !"  he  said  to  himself,  as  he  went  through  the 
kitchen,  over  a  floor  which  Captolia's  hands  had 
made  as  clean  as  wax — Captolia  "hated  dirt." 
"I  tell  you,  Mrs.  Artwell  has  browsed  where 
the  grass  was  tender  and  sweet.  But  my 
mother! — bless  her  forever  .'-hasn't  she  had  to 
live  in  pastures  where  there  were  only  stacks  of 
straw ! 

"Mrs.  Artwell  is  a  bouquet  of  a  woman;  but 
I  wonder  if  she  would  be  able  to  advise  a  poor 
fellow,  who  had  got  into  a  tight  place,  how  to 
get  out  of  it.  My  mother  is  the  very  woman 
for  that  business.  Does  n't  she  know  this  world 
like  a  book,  though?  Hasn't  she  tried  it  on 
most  sides?  And  the  rest  she  knows  without 
trying.  No  paint  on  her!  She's  the  honest 
grain  of  the  wood,  clear  up  to  the  top." 


DIGGING  THE  TOP  OFF.  11 

Joe  lived  in  Marigold  Alley,  the  fourth  house 
from  the  corner.  During  this  bit  of  thinking,  so 
complimentary  to  his  mother,  he  had  walked  out 
to  the  street  and  turned  toward  home.  His  eyes 
were  hent  upon  his  noisy  shoes,  but  he  did  n't 
see  them.  He  saw  only  the  inner  Joe,  and  won- 
dered what  could  be  so  much  amiss  with  him; 
for  to  that  Joe  he  was  sure  the  message  deliv- 
ered to  him  by  Captolia  related. 

There  are  times  in  every  boy's  life,  when 
some  caustic  remark  burns  its  way  into  his  very 
soul.  In  Joe's  experience  such  a  time  had  come. 
A  single  sentence,  containing  a  sharp  suggestion 
about  digging,  and  the  modest  little  word  "top," 
had  seized  him  with  the  force  of  a  pair  of  grap- 
pling-irons. Shake  it  off?  No. 

Had  Mrs.  Artwell  lectured  the  boy  for  an 
hour,  on  the  duty  of  forming  a  noble  character 
during  his  youth,  disgust  and  a  feeling  of  impa- 
tience would  probably  have  been  the  only  results 
she  would  have  produced.  For  the  occasion,  and 


12  DIGGING  THE  TOP  OFF. 

unconsciously  the  little  woman  was  an  artist  of 
high  talent.  With  a  couple  of  strokes  of  her 
brush  she  had  painted  Joe's  portrait — full  length 
and  true  to  life.  Joe  was  disturbed  by  the 
likeness. 

"  What  was  Joe's  occupation  ?" 

Growing  was  the  more  constant  one.  He  had 
several  others,  however.  Nights  and  mornings 
he  did  errands  and  chores  for  Mr.  Artwell,  who 
was  the  president  of  the  street-railway  com- 
pany. That  gentleman  lived  on  Myrtle  Street, 
not  more  than  three  minutes'  run  from  Joe's 
lowly  home.  Here  the  lad's  duties  were  quite 
numerous.  He  swept  the  porches  and  walks ; 
kept  fuel  at  hand  for  the  parlor  grate ;  took 
charge  of  the  furnace ;  groomed  Mr.  Artwell's 
horse,  and  drove  him  to  the  door  mornings,  when 
that  gentleman  was  ready  to  dash  away  to  busi- 
ness ;  and  at  night  he  stood  ready  to  take  Prince 
to  his  stall  the  moment  his  owner  drew  rein  at 
the  front  gate  ;  for  some  reason  Joe  liked  to  have 


DIGGING  THE  TOP  OFF.  13 

people  rely  upon  him  to  do  things.  Besides  all 
these  employments,  the  youth  attended  school  six 
hours  a,  day,  five  days  in  the  week. 

"  How  could  a  slow  boy  accomplish  so  much  ?" 

Simply  by  "keeping  at  it."  Joe  Porter  pos- 
sessed a  magnificent  gift  for  that.  He  had 
learned  that  every  moment's  working  at  a  task 
brings  it  so  much  the  nearer  to  being  done, 
and  also  that  tasks  never  do  themselves. 

Reaching  home,  the  boy  went  into  the  kitchen, 
where  his  mother  was  busy  getting  supper  for 
her  husband  and  four  children.  Usually  he  en- 
tered that  kitchen,  after  his  day's  work,  with 
a  most  vigorous  tread,  and  with  the  pathetic 
entreaty:  "Mother,  hurry  up  your  supper;  I'm 
starving." 

But  that  evening  he  entered  with  so  little 
noise,  spite  of  his  shoes,  that  Mrs.  Porter  looked 
around  to  see  if  it  were  really  Joe. 

Seating  himself  by  the  stove,  he  leaned  for- 
ward; rested  his  elbows  on  his  knees;  supported 


14  DIGGING  THE  TOP  OFF. 

his  chin  in  his  hands ;  kept  as  silent  as  the 
stars  overhead — and  thought. 

Mrs.  Porter  was  not  only  a  sensible  Scotch 
woman,  but  she  was  also  like  a  telescope.  She 
could  see  very  far — into  appearances.  That 
something  had  happened  to  disturb  Joe,  unusually, 
was  plain  enough.  That  he  would,  in  time,  tell 
her  what  that  something  was,  WHS  just  as  plain. 
So  she  wisely  asked  him  no  questions  and  hur- 
ried the  supper.  "Most  people,"  she  thought, 
"are  ready  to  talk  after  a  meal." 

In  the  course  of  ten  or  fifteen  minutes  Mr. 
Porter  came  in  from  his  shop  at  the  back  of  the 
yard.  Approaching  the  stove  he  laid  a  hand  on 
each  of  Joe's  shoulders  and  shook  them  vigor- 
ously, saying  in  a  hearty  manner  : 

"  How  went  school  to-day,  my  boy  ?  How  've 
you  got  along  in  your  studies  ?" 

"Well  enough,"  muttered  Joe,  crustily,  not 
looking  up,  but  hitching  uneasily  on  his  chair. 
He  knew  that  was  an  uncivil  answer  to  questions 


DIGGING  THE  TOP  OFF.  15 

so  kind,  and,  the  next  breath,  was  sorry  he  had 
spoken  »those  two  words. 

Having  been  a  boy  himself,  Mr.  Porter  un- 
derstood their  ways,  and  spent  not  a  thought  on 
this  new  phase  of  conduct  m  Joe.  Upon  Mrs. 
Porter  the  effect  was  different.  While  one  of 
the  most  loving  of  mothers,  she  was  likewise 
a  strict  disciplinarian,  and  exacted  from  her  chil- 
dren unqualified  respect  toward  their  parents,  in 
word  and  deed.  Joe  was  no  stranger  to  this 
fact,  and  instinctively  looked  up  as  she  carne  out 
of  the  pantry  just  then.  The  look  of  disap- 
proval in  her  face  impelled  him  to  turn  to  his 
father,  presently,  and  to  say  in  a  bright  way  : 

"  Pa,  I  stood  in  the  nineties  in  all  my  studies 
this  week." 

"  That's  good  news,  my  boy.  Is  this  the  last 
examination  before  you  go  up  ?" 

"  Yes,  sir.  After  the  holidays  I  enter  the  next 
grade.  And  Miss  Duncan  says  that,  with  good 
luck,  I  shall  finish  the  course  there  in  one  year." 


16  DIGGING  THE  TOP  OFF. 

"Well,  good  luck  to  you  then !  But  what  nex\  f ' 

"I  can  enter  the  high-school,  sir,,  if  you 
should  n't  need  me  in  the  shop  next  year,"  an- 
swered the  boy. 

"Matters  are  so  arranged  in  this  world  that 
we  can't  always  have  what  we  think  we  need, 
Joe.  We  might  retain  the  high-school  in  our 
plans  until  we  see  how  matters  turn  out." 

Joe  possessed  an  imperial  sense  of  right,  and 
after  supper,  the  more  to  remove  any  uncomfort- 
able feeling  from  her  heart,  he  performed  several 
little  services  that  were  especially  helpful  to  his 
mother.  He  even  undressed  the  baby  and  put 
him  in  bed.  Usually  the  little  fellow  fell  asleep  on 
the  braided,  woolen  rug  near  the  stove,  while  the 
mother  did  up  the  supper  work.  Then,  not  being 
able  to  think  of  any  further  aid  he  could  render, 
Joe  took  a  book  and  read  until  his  father  and 
little  sisters  had  gone  to  bed.  Then,  turning  to 
his  mother  who  sat  near,  quietly  darning  stock- 
ings, he  asked : 


DTGGIXG  THE  TOP  OFF.  17 

"Mother,  what  is  meant  by  ''digging  the  top 
off  a  boy  f  " 

•*By  what,  my  son?" 

"I  guess  I'd  better  explain,  though  it  isn't 
easy  to  do  it.  I  imagine  it 's  something  which 
you  can 't  dig  as  you  can  potatoes ;  something 
that  comes  where  it's  not  wanted,  like  Canada 
thistles,  and  which  you  have  to  keep  working  at, 
or  it  gets  the  upper  hand." 

Joe  then  faithfully  rehearsed  the  incident 
which  set  him  to  such  uncomfortable  thinking. 

"I  must  consider  the  matter  a  little  while 
before  I  can  answer  wisely,  Joe." 

While  his  mother  "  considered,"  Joe  sat  look- 
ing at  her.  She  was  a  study  to  him.  He  ob- 
served how  plainly  her  hair  was  combed  back 
from  her  fine  forehead,  that  instead  of  a  bright, 
scarlet  rose,  a  small  brown  button  ornamented 
her  dress  at  the  neck,  and  that  her  hands,  in- 
stead of  being  white  and  shapely,  were  red 
and  rough.  Instead  of  reading  and  leisurely 


18  DIGGING  THE  TOP  OFF. 

rocking,  she  was  vigorously  mending  stockings 
for  him. 

"Even  if  she  were  reading,"  he  thought, 
"she'd  all  the  while  be  thinking  how  she  could 
turn  what  she  learned  to  some  good  account  for 
us  children." 

Having  reached  that  conclusion,  the  boy 
waited  through  what  seemed  an  age,  before  Mrs. 
Porter,  looking  up,  said  : 

"My  son,  I  think  Mrs.  Artwell's  words  mean 
a  great  deal  more  than  you  realize." 

"Well,  if  that's  your  opinion,  where 's  their 
mischief  going  to  end  ?  I  have  n't  felt  like  Joe 
Porter  since  five  o'clock.  Her  words  stick  in  me 
like  arrows.  I  was  in  hopes  you  'd  pull  them  out. 
'Stead  of  that  you  think  they  've  got  to  go  deeper." 

Joe  could  hardly  have  uttered  three  sentences 
which  would  have  appealed  more  powerfully 
to  his  mother's  sympathies;  but.  determined  to 
improve  the  opportunity  for  her  son's  benefit,  she 
quietly  said-: 


DIGGING  THE  TOP  OFF.  19 

"My  son,  most  boys  at  your  age  are  just 
emerging  from  the  chrysalis  condition  of  their 
character.  A  germ  of  genuine  manliness  exists 
in  them.  But  it  is  so  completely  covered  over 
with  a  crust  of  disagreeable  traits  and  tempers, 
that  unless  it  be  cleared  away,  unlike  the  coal, 
with  its  top,  character  will  be  spoiled.  A  boy 
crusted  over  with  selfishness,  self-conceit,  un- 
truthfulness,  indolence,  a  quick  temper,  with  per- 
haps a  strong  craving  for  many  harmful  things, 
and  a  coat  of  rude  manners  outside  all  these, 
needs — " 

"  Hold  on,  I  beg  of  you,  mother  !  That 's  an 
awfully  thick  crust.  Pray,  are  all  those  things 
the  'top'  whreh  must  come  off?" 

"Would  you  like  to  see  Joe  buried  under  a 
single  one  of  them  ?" 

"  It  strikes  me  that  boys  are  about  all  top. 
I  should  like  to  know  how  much  genuine  boy 
you'd  have  left,  after  all  that  rubbish  had  been 
cleared  away.  I  tell  you,  mother,  most  boys  are 


20  DIGGING  THE  TOP  OFF, 

buried  too  deep  for  resurrection.  The  *  true  char- 
acter,' as  you  call  it,  lies  clear  out  of  sight." 

"Still  it  can  be  brought  to  view,  and  into 
service,  Joe ;  and  the  earlier  a  boy  gets  rid  of 
such  useless  and  harmful  traits,  the  better;  for 
they  act  as  a  ravenous  rust,  eating  up  the  valu- 
able qualities  they  so  nearly  conceal." 

"  Stars !  mother,  but  you  'd  make  a  good  law- 
yer !  It  takes  you  to  state  a  case  clearly.  Now 
what  I  want  to  know  is  this  :  If  a  chap  is  hidden 
away  under  all  this  load,  who's  going  to  dig  him 
out?  Must  a  fellow  do  it  himself,  or  can  his 
friends  lend  a  hand  ?"  Joe  looked  fairly  dismayed- 

"Any  boy  who  really  wants  this  destructive 
top  removed,  can  have  help  from  several  sources. 
At  the  same  time  he  must  make  up  his  mind  to 
do  the  greater  part  of  the  digging  himself.  I 
have  known  boys  to  leave  it  all  for  their  friends 
to  do,  but  that  is  not  an  honorable  way  out  of 
the  difficulty/' 

"Well,  mother,  name  the  several  sources.     I 


DIGGING  THE  TOP  OFF. 

suppose  the  helps  are  to  serve  as  shovels,  pick- 
axes, etc." 

(;  That  is  not  so  very  inapt  an  illustration, 
my  son,  and  a  boy's  friends  answer  the  purpose 
of  such  instruments,  nicely ;  and  daily  trials, 
rightly  handled,  make  the  best  of  crowbars  for 
prying  up  faults.  A  boy's  enemies,  also,  may 
prove  admirable  helps.  They  have  sharp  eyes 
and  can  detect  the  smallest  blemish  in  his  char- 
acter sooner  than  his  friends  can.  But — " 

"Hold  on  again,  mother.  A  boy's  enemies  ! 
If  you  please,  I'll  take  all  such  help  at  a  big 
discount.  Just  cross  that  class  off  the  list.  1 
hcpe  the  remaining  '  sources '  are  not  of  that  sort." 

"  Yet  he  is  a  wise  boy,  Joe,  who  can  make 
even  the  criticisms  of  his  enemies  a  means  for 
improving  his  character.  You  must  not  be  too 
particular  as  to  the  instruments  by  which  the 
top  comes  off.  Get  rid  of  it  by  all  methods. 
Prayer  and  the  Word  of  God  are  among  the  best 
means  which  come  into  my  mind  just  now." 


22  DIGGING  TRh:  TOr  OFF. 

"  1  agree  to  that,  mother.  Now,  how 's.  a, 
fellow  to  begin  digging  ?  Exactly  what  must  be 
his  first  step  ?  I  understood  how  to  get  the  ice 
and  snow  of!'  that  coal,  and  I  can  shovel  snow 
off  sidewalks  as  well  as  any  other  fellow  ;  but 
when  it  comes  to  clearing  away  ill-manners, 
and  all  that  sort  of  thing,  and  my  own  rude 
manners,  at  that,  I  'in  clear  out  to  sea.  I  do  n't 
know  even  how  to  begin. 

"I'll  tell  you  what  it  is,  mother,  it  would 
have  been  a  grand  scheme,  if,  when  boys  first 
began,  somebody  had  laid  down  precise  rules  for 
the  government  of  the  entire  crop,  just  as  the 
teachers  do  in  school.  There  a  chap  knows  ex- 
actly what  he  must  do.  Nothing  is  left  for  trial, 
just  to  see  how  your  actions  will  turn  out.  But 
no.  I'm  a  good  ways  off,  there.  The  same 
rules  won't  fit  every  school.  And  that's  the 
trouble  with  boys.  No  two  of  them  are  alike. 
So  a  different  set  of  regulations  must  be  fixed 
up  for  every  fellow.  How  in  the  world  is  such 


DIGGING  THE  TOP  OFF.  23 

a  variety  invented  ?  It  seems  to  me  that  fathers 
and  mothers,  from  Adam  down,  have  had  their 
hands  full,  studying  the  make-up  of  their  chil- 
dren, in  order  to  know  when  to  say,  'You  can' 
and  '  You  can  't.'  " 

This  was  an  airing  of  opinions,  on  Joe's  part, 
which  was  somewhat  surprising  to  Mrs.  Porter. 
But  seizing  upon  the  boy's  first  remark,  she  said, 
seriously  : 

"Joe,  thousands  of  years  ago,  men  were  fur- 
nished a  code  of  laws,  which  were  perfectly 
adapted  to  meet  every  human  being's  case,  in 
this  respect.  They  were  intended  to  be  a  sure 
guide  in  boyhood,  manhood;  and  old  age ;  and  to 
regulate,  not  only  each  one's  peculiar  passions 
and  weaknesses,  but  also  his  wants,  thoughts, 
motives,  purposes,  and  actions.  They  were 
framed  by  the  only  Being  who  knew  what  was 
in  man.  -They  were  spoken  by  God.  They 
exist  in  the  world  to-day." 

"Ah!    mother,    I    begin    to    see    what    you 


24  DIGGING  THE  TOP  OFF. 

mean — the  Ten  Commandments.  But  I  do  n't 
see  how  you  can  apply  them  so  closely,  and  to 
so  much.  If  you  can,  why  a  boy  has,  at  once, 
a  whole  kit  of  amazingly  sharp  tools  to  work 
with" 

"  They  meet  the  emergency  every  time,  Joe, 
for  the  Bible  says  they  are  perfect,  turning  again 
the  soul.  Rightly  used  they  can't  fail.  It  is 
because  all  men  need  turning  that  these  precepts 
answer  so  grand  a  purpose  in  the  world.  So  to 
speak,  Joe,  men  naturally  stand  with  their  backs 
toward  God.  The  Ten  Commandments,  obeyed, 
have  the  power  to  turn  them  right  about." 

"Then  there  is  more  in  them  than  any  boy 
I  know,  dreams  of;  but  the  question  is, '  How  to 
begin  the  digging.'  Let  us  get  started,  mother ; 
then,  if  we  can  use  the  Ten  Commandments, 
why,  all  right." 

"Perhaps,"  said  Mrs.  Porter,  in  a  thoughtful 
tone,  "the  best  way  to  begin,  is  to  correct  one 
fault  at  a  time,  and  to  attack  first,  the  one  which 


DIGGING  THE  TOP  OFF.  25 

lies  most  in  the  way.  By  the  time  two  or  three 
are  removed,  you'll  have  an  idea  how  the  work 
is  done;  and,  in  the  end,  you '11  come  to  the  true 
Joe  beneath  them  all.  But  you  must  bear  in 
mind  that  different  faults  are  removed  by  dif- 
ferent instruments." 

Joe's  round  face  now  wore  a  serious  ex- 
pression. "In  the  end,  you  say,  mother.  Then 
it's  a  life-work,  and  in  my  opinion  Joe's  resur- 
rection is  hopeless.  But  suppose  you  tell  me 
which,  of  all  the  heap,  is  my  worst  failing." 

That  was  a  heroic  request.  Mrs.  Porter  hes- 
itated, and  unconsciously  drew  into  her  needle 
an  immensely  long  thread.  Of  the  defects  in 
her  child's  character  she  had  never  determined 
which  was  the  most  prominent.  But  recalling, 
now  how  numerous  and  how  intense,  always, 
had  been  his  wants,  and  how  persistently  he 
made  them  manifest,  she  asked,  very  tenderly  : 

"Is  n't  it  selfishness,  my  son  ?" 

Joe  had  already   divined   her    thought,   and 


26  DIGGING  THE  TOP  OFF. 

immediately  said :  "  I  guess  you  have  about  hit 
it,  mother.  Now,  where 's  the  shovel,  pick-ax, 
or  crow-bar,  that  can  break  up  selfishness  ?  If 
the  thing's  got  to  be  done,  the  sooner  a  fellow 
takes  off  his  gloves  and  goes  to  work  the  better 
for  him,  I  think." 

If  there  was  one  good  characteristic  Joe  did 
not  lack,  it  was  readiness  to  undertake  a  disagree- 
able duty.  Indeed,  he  sometimes  appeared  to  be 
really  happy  when  in  a  close  fight  with  a  for- 
bidding task.  Hence  he  was  not  the  boy  to 
shrink  from  a  battle  with  his  foibles,  if  battle 
there  must  be. 

"  Selfishness  forms  a  pretty  solid  crust  over 
many  a  dear  boy,  Joe ;  but  there  is  an  instru- 
ment, which,  if  faithfully  used,  never  fails  to 
shiver  the  trait  as  fine  as  dust.  It  is  rather  diffi- 
cult for  beginners  to  handle,  and  suppose  you  try 
using  it  awhile  before  you  know  its  name." 

"That's  a  queer  proposal,  mother.  A  boy 
always  hates  working  in  the  dark.  But  if  you 


THE  TOP  OFF.  27 


know  how  the  thing  operates,  all  right;  I'll  go 
ahead." 

"Have  you  planned  to  spend  to-morrow  fore- 
noon at  the  public  library?"  asked  Mrs.  Porter, 
suddenly  and  utterly  changing  the  subject. 

"Yes;  Jack  Winters  and  I  are  to  be  there 
from  nine  until  twelve.  But  why  do  you  ask 
that  question  V  ' 

"For  this  reason  :  To-morrow  is  to  be  one  of 
the  busiest  days  I  shall  see  this  Winter.  Mamie 
and  Julia  will  be  employed  every  moment. 
Could  n't  you  postpone  your  visit  to  the  library 
and  spend  the  morning  at  home,  amusing  Neddie 
and  saving  me  steps?" 

*'  But  there  's  the  disappointment  to  Jack, 
mother." 

"Yes;  it  is  there,"  said  Mrs.  Porter,  in  a 
tone  which  produced  a  mental  electric  shock 
in  Joe. 

"A  boy  hates  to  make  promises,  and  break 
them,  without  a  big  excuse." 


28  DIGGING  THK  TOP  OFF. 

"  The  size  of  our  excuses,  Joe.  can  not  always 
be  determined  at  first  sight.  Reasons  for  con- 
duct often  grow  while  we  are  considering  them. 
The  principle  of  keeping  engagements  is  a  right 
one.  At  the  same  time,  it  is  equally  just  some- 
times to  recall  an  engagement,  even  when  it  is  a 
very  proper  one.  On  the  other  hand,  if  it  be  a 
wrong  one,  it  is  our  duty  to  break  it.  Your 
engagements  for  to-morrow  are  perfectly  right." 
-"Mother,  I'll  give  it  up.  I'll  notify  Jack, 
before  breakfast,  that  I  can't  go." 

Mrs.  Porter  rolled  Joe's  mended  stockings 
together,  turned  the  top  of  one  over  both, 
smoothly,  and  laid  them  on  the  table  before  him. 
Then,  looking  up  in  his  face,  she  remarked, 
kindty  : 

"  My  son,  I  was  greatly  interested  in  the  game 
of  ball  I  heard  you  talking  about  last  evening. 
Does  it  really  come  off  to-morrow  afternoon  ?" 

"  Sure  as  the  day  comes  and  no  snow  with  it. 
What  of  itr 


DIGGING  THE  TOP  OFF.  29 

"Are  you  one  of  the  nine?" 

'•Pitcher,"  responded  Joe,  laconically. 

"Just  before  tea,"  continued  Mrs.  Porter 
thrusting  her  fingers  through  a  large  hole  in  the  ' 
toe  of  a  little  stocking,  "  I  ran  over  to  Mrs.  Mills 
for  a  moment,  and  found  Harry  in  bed  with  an 
arm  badly  broken.  His  mother  says  he  suffers 
much  from  loneliness.  And  he  told  me  the  days 
seemed  forty-eight  hours  long.  If  I  can  spare 
you  at  two  o'clock  to-morrow  afternoon,  can't  you 
try  to  shorten  the  time  for  him,,  taking  a  lively 
book  over  with  you  ?" 

Joe's  great  round  face  clouded  over  instantly. 
The  game  of  ball  was  to  be  one  of  unusual  inter- 
est. A  visiting  nine  was  to  be  present.  He  was 
the  most  important  member  of  his  club,  and  the 
'•boss  pitcher"  of  the  vicinity.  Besides,  who 
could  take  his  place  on  such  short  notice  ?  More- 
over, Harry  Mills  was  no  special  friend  of  his. 
In  fact,  though  he  knew  it,  he  had  almost  for- 
gotten that  the  boy  had  broken  his  arm. 


BO  DIGGING  THE  .TOP  OFF. 

Mrs.  Porter  waited  and  darned  and  said 
nothing. 

Finally,  Joe's  voice  trembled,  as  he  inquired  : 
"Mother,  is  it  only  in  such  ways  that  the  top 
can  come  off?" 

"There  is  almost  no  end  of  ways  for  getting 
it  off,  my  dear.  But  we  are  at  work  upon  selfish- 
ness now.  No  instrument  splinters  that  like 
self-denial — now  you  have  the  name  of  it;  but  a 
boy  must  take  it  in  his  own  hands,  and  use  it  for 
himself.  I  can  tell  you  when  to  strike  the  blows, 
but  I  can  't  be  Joe." 

"  Moth'er,  my  honest  opinion  is  that  boys 
have  a  mighty  big  job  set  for  them  in  this  busi- 
ness. How,  in  the  name  of  George  Washington, 
those  poor  fellows  work  their  way  through  it, 
who  have  no  mother  to  lend  them  a  hand,  is  more 
than  I  can  understand.  There  ought  to  be  tons 
of  genuine  boy  at  the  bottom,  to  pay  for  such 
tedious  digging  off  of  top.  Pray,  how  long  must 
the  process  go  on  before  a  fellow  begins  to  see 


DIGGING  THE  TOP  OFF.  31 

rlnylight  through  the  crust,  and  begins  to  be 
somebody?"' 

"A  boy  is  somebody  the  moment  he  bravely 
undertakes  to  rid  himself  of  infirmities  of  char- 
acter. The  very  making  an  effort  to  do  this 
renders  him  of  consequence,  puts  power  within 
him.  In  the  past  it  has  been  the  duty  of  your 
parents  to  try  to  correct  your  faults,  but  no 
parents  have  ever  yet  made  a  child  faultless. 
Indeed,  my  son,  while  I  think  of  it,  it  is  the 
Lord  Jesus  Christ  alone  who  can  make  a  human 
being  perfect.  We  can  pray  for  you  at  all 
times,  and  that  will  be  a  great  help ;  but  you 
are  now  old  enough  to  take  the  matter  mostly 
into  your  own  hands.  We  can  't  be  Joe." 

It  was  getting  late.  Mrs.  Porter  began 
picking  up  her  work.  Joe  rose  from  his  seat; 
put  his  book  under  his  arm ;  took  up  the  stock- 
ings his  mother  had  darned,  and  paced  slowly 
across  the  floor  several  times,  thinking  very 
hard.  Finally,  marching  up  to  his  mother,  who 


32  DIGGING  THE  TOP  OFF. 

had  stepped  into  the  pantry  to  make  some  prepa- 
ration for  breakfast,  he  put  his  arm  around  her 
waist  and  kissed  her  heartily,  saying  : 

•"Mother,  I'll  do  both,  things.  The  last- 
duty,  I  suppose  you  'd  call  it — is  n't  a  job  a  fel- 
low'd  beg  for.  It  will  hurt  dreadfully,  but  I'll 
do  it.  I  remember  that  Frank  Carroll  is  a  tip- 
top pitcher  ;  I  '11  get  him  to  take  my  place  in  the 
game,  and  I  '11  exercise  my  wits  for  Harry.  He 
shall  have  so  good  a  time  that  he  will  be  glad 
his  arm  is  broken.  But  listen,  mother;  I  wanl 
you  to  keep  within  calling  distance  until  I  get 
well  along  in  this  business  of  digging,  and  that 
will  be  several  years  to  come.  Your  way  of  get- 
ting the  top  off  takes  right  hold  of  the  heap.  I 
tell  you  it  suits  me.  Good-night." 

The  boy  walked  out  of  the  room,  closed 
the  door  softly  after  him — his  mother  noticed 
that — and  slowly  climbed  the  staircase.  He  was 
surprised  to  find  himself  not  sleepy.  Ordinarily 
he  could  keep  awake  barely  long  enough  to 


DIGGING  THE  TOP  OFF.  33 

undress ;  but  to-night  he  lay  long,  with  eyes 
wide  open,  looking  into  the  darkness  and  think- 
ing of  his  "  life-work,"  and  of  what  it  was  going 
to  cost  for  one  day  to  do  it. 

"It  seems  to  me,"  we  should  have  heard  him 
say,  had  his  thoughts  heen  expressed  audibly, 
"that  to-morrow  has  skipped,  with  all  its  ap- 
pointments. And  what  an  odd  set  of  things 
have  popped  up  to  be  done  !  And  they  make 
themselves  stay,  too.  Pitching,  and  study  at  the 
cheerful  library,  are  elbowed  square  off  the  track. 
Indeed,  I  think  I'm  off*  the  track  myself.  Four 
hours  ago  I  would  n't  have  believed  I  could  have 
felt  so  differently.  I  suppose  this  giving  up  play 
and  taking  to  digging,  is  what  they  call  '  turning 
over  a  new  leaf/  If  so,  there  's  a  mighty  change 
in  the  subject  on  the  new  side.  Only  four  words 
tell  the  story,  with  not  even  a  comma  between." 

Joe  sighed  deeply  and  felt  heavy-hearted. 
He  meant  to  do  all  he  had  promised,  and  to  do 

it  cheerfully ;   but  the  double  shock  of  finding 

3 


34  DIGGING  THE  TOP  OFF. 

himself  a  buried  boy,  and  of  the  change  in  his 
plans  for  the  morrow,  had  been  too  great  for  his 
speedily  going  to  sleep.  A  little  later  he  heard 
his  mother  moving  about  down-stairs.  This  re- 
called the  fact  that  she  was  to  be  his  helper, 
and  immediately  his  spirits  began  to  revive. 
"  Mother  seems  to  understand  this  whole  business 
of  digging.  I  'm  glad  she  does.  I  should  make 
no  headway  without  her,"  he  thought,  as  he 
turned  once  more  on  his  pillow. 

Then  there  flashed  into  his  mind  a  perception 
of  his  mother's  worth,  as  keen  as  it  was  new. 
This  added  to  his  uneasiness.  He  saw  that  he 
had  often  actually  wronged  her,  and  in  the  next 
moment  wished  for  the  morning,  that  he  might 
manifest  his  awakened  appreciation  of  her. 
Sometime  after,  Joe  observed  that  there  was  a 
deep  stillness  down-stairs.  At  the  same  time  he 
knew  his  mother  had  not  come  up  to  bed.  "I 
wish  she  would  come.  I'd  like  to  speak  to  her 
before  I  go  to  sleep,"  he  said, 


DIGGING  THE  TOP  OFF.  35 

Could  Joe  have  looked  into  the  room  below, 
just  then,  he  would  have  seen  his  mother  seated 
in  front  of  the  fast  cooling  stove,  her  feet  resting 
on  a  small  box  covered  with  a  patch- work  of  bits 
of  flannel,  red,  white,  and  black,  and  her  head 
bowed  upon  her  hands.  She  was  thinking  of 
the  same  things  which  kept  her  boy  awake.  It 
had  never  been  put  to  her  mind  just  that  way 
before,  this  digging  the  top  off  children. 

"  It 's  a  novel  idea,  but  not  a  bad  one  after 
all,"  she  thought.  "  But  what  a  work  it  is ! 
Done  rightly,  it  amounts  to  nothing  less  than 
putting  off  the  old  man  and  putting  on  the  new. 
I  see  plainly  that  I  must  lend  a  hand  to  Joe,  and 
to  all  the  others,  too,  for  that  matter.  But  alas  ! 
what  woman  is  sufficient  to  these  things  ?" 

•< 4  My  grace  is  sufficient/  I  can  do  all  things 
through  Christ  who  strengtheneth  me,"  darted 
into  her  mind  like  an  arrow. 

"Yes,"  she  assented,  "he  is  the  great  source 
of  power,  and  is  as  free  to  Joe  as  to  me.  That's 


36  DIGGING  THE  TOP  OFF. 

a  comfort.  But  what  tact  and  foresight  and 
sound  sense,  with  ceaseless  love,  and  who  knows 
what  all  of  other  gifts  and  graces,  a  mother  needs 
to  guide  well  such  a  boy  as  Joe  !  And  the  lad 
fares  ill  whose  mother  lacks  them,  very  ill." 

Feeling  very  weary,  and  concluding  that  ex- 
perience would  make  her  course  clearer,  Mrs. 
Porter  set  her  chair  against  the  wall,  locked 
the  outside  door,  wound  the  little  round  clock  on 
the  shelf  between  the  two  windows,  and  lighting 
a  small  lamp,  went  up  stairs  softly. 

"Mother,"  called  a  low  voice  as  she  passed 
the  door  of  Joe's  room. 

"  What  is  it,  my  son  ?"  she  asked,  much  sur- 
prised, but  not  opening  the  door.  It  had  been 
years  since  Joe  had  been  awake  when  she  went 
to  bed. 

"  Good-night."  The  boy's  voice  was  full  of 
feeling. 

"Good -night,     dear.     Haven't     you     been 


!GIXU  THE  TOP  OFF.  37 


"No,  mother.  Sleep  and  I  have  had  a 
falling  out.  I  should  like  to  make  up,  but 
it  takes  two,  you  know,  and  the  other  fellow 
won't." 

Mrs.  Porter  entered  the  room,  seated  herself 
on  the  bedside,  brushed  the  boy's  hair  back  from 
his  forehead,  and  began  relating  an  amusing  in- 
cident which  happened  in  Scotland  in  her  youth, 
never  touching  upon  their  recent  conversation. 
When  she  concluded  the  story  Joe  was  across 
the  ocean  making  himself  acquainted  with  the 
funny  little  house  in  which  his  mother  was  born 
and  married,  and  had  totally  forgotten  that  any 
operation  of  agriculture  was  ever  applicable  to 
himself  or  any  other  boy. 

The  next  afternoon,  about  two  o'clock,  Joe 
laid  aside  the  book  he  had  been  reading  for  a 
few  moments,  saying  : 

"  Mother,  I  think  it  is  about  time  to  go  over 
to  Harry's.  Ned  's  asleep,  and  the  girls  will  soon 
be  home.  Can  you  get  along  ?" 


38  DIGGING  THE  TOP  OFF. 

" Easily,  Joe.  I'm  not  the  least  tired. 
You've  done  me  a  world  of  good  to-day." 

Why  she  was  not  tired  was  something  of  a 
mystery  to  Joe,  for  since  break  of  day  her  feet 
had  been  still  only  while  she  ate  her  breakfast 
and  dinner.  Had  his  being  at  home  kept  oil'  the 
feeling  of  weariness  ?  The  very  thought  brought 
to  the  boy  a  pleasure  entirely  new,  and  was 
of  itself,  an  ample  recompense  for  the  disappoint- 
ment with  which  he  had  been  silently  battling 
all  the  forenoon. 

Neither  mother  nor  son  had  once  alluded  to 
the  hurtful  top,  at  which  the  latter  was  now 
working;  yet  most  of  their  thinking  had  been  on 
that  subject.  Nor  had  Joe's  promise  to  devote 
the  afternoon  to  Harry  been  once  mentioned. 

Mrs.  Porter  saw  plainly,  as  she  had  remarked 
the  evening  before,  the  necessity  of  Joe's  solving 
for  himself  the  problem  of  digging  the  top  off,  and, 
as  well,  the  loss  he  would  incur,  should  he  fail  to 
do  so,  and  therefore  did  not  propose  to  allow  her 


DIGGING  THE  TOP  OFF.  39 

i 

motherly  tenderness  and  sympathy  to  contribute 
to  any  such  disaster.  Thus  she  left  Joe  to  his  own 
course  in  the  case,  resolved  to  bring  her  forces 
on  the  field  only  in  times  of  threatened  defeat. 

The  day  had  already  brought  him  some  sharp 
conflicts.  In  the  morning  he  went  through  his 
round  of  duties  at  Mrs.  Artwell's,  with  the  feel- 
ing that  the  bright  little  woman — with  no  top  on 
her — knew  all  about  the  exceeding  depth  of  the 
crust  above  him,  and  determined  she  should 
know  he  had  begun  to  "  break  it  up." 

His  first  step  toward  imparting  this  knowl- 
edge was  to  ask  Captolia  at  the  door  for  a  broom 
with  which  to  "sweep  his  shoes"  before  he  went 
in.  She  handed  it  to  him  with  the  kind  in- 
junction : 

"  Sweep  your  head  well,  Joe,  while  you  are 
about  it." 

"I've  a  mind  to  sow  her  floor  thick  with 
coal-dust  and  snow,"  he  said,  hurt  for  an  instant. 
Then,  concluding  that  putting  a  top  on  that 


40  DIGGING  THE  TOP  OFF. 

• 

would  remove  none  of  his,  he  caught  up  his 
great  lump  of  coal ;  carried  it  in  and  laid  it  in 
the  grate,  as  was  his  custom  every  morning. 
As  he  entered  the  sitting-room  he  cast  a  glance 
at  "Mrs.  Artwell,  asking  himself: 

"  Will  she  notice  my  clean  shoes  ?  or  my 
lighter  footsteps  ?" 

Alas  !  the  little  woman  neither  looked  up,  nor 
spoke  a  word,  and  all  the  satisfaction  he  got  out 
of  his  effort  was  the  "  principle  of  the  thing." 

A  word,  or  look,  of  approval,  is  sometimes  a 
great  help  to  a  boy  in  fighting  his  faults.  A  ma- 
chine capable  of  bringing  coal  into  the  house 
would  have  been  an  object  of  greater  interest  to 
Mrs.  Artwell  than  was  Joe.  That  would  have 
awakened  her  curiosity.  She  would  have  exam- 
ined it,  studied  it,  perhaps  ;  but  here  was  this 
boy,  fearfully  and  wonderfully  made,  yet  worthy 
of  not  a  single  thought. 

The  writer  once  knew  a  woman,  a  good 
woman,  a  generous-hearted  woman,  who  consid- 


DIGGING  THE  TOP  OFF.  41 

<T<-d  it  her  Christian  duty,  not  to  .praise  one  of 
her  household  for  well-doing.  Never,  however, 
did  she  suffer  an  instance  of  mistake,  or  failure, 
to  pass  without  comment.  According  to  her  view 
that  was  right.  Was  it? 

"Really,  Joe,  that's  refreshing,"  said  Cap- 
tolia,  in  a  tantalizing  tone,  scanning  the  boy's 
shoes,  as  he  passed  through  the  kitchen  on  his 
way  to  the  cellar,  to  "  'tend  to  the  furnace." 

"  If  your  top  would  only  sweep  off,  we  'd 
soon  have  you  winking  at  daylight.  Say,  Joe, 
have  you  any  idea  what  the  top  is,  on  you  ? 
You  know  Mrs.  Artwell  says  there  is  one,  and 
she  knows,  if  anybody  does.  Is  it  laziness,  or 
natural  thick-headedness,  or  what?" 

"  The  whole  three,"  cried  Joe,  as  he  dropped 
lightly  down  the  staircase.  He  had  barely 
touched  the  floor  when  his  temper  began  to  blaze. 
"  Whew  !  How  hot  it  is  here  !  I  wish  I  could 
whistle  ;  but  I  suppose  whistling  in  any  woman's 
house,  except  my  mother's,  would  be  a  part  of 


42  DIGGING  THE  TOT  OFF. 

the  coat  of  rude  manners  which  has  to  be  cleared 
away.  Good  Santa  Glaus  !  It 's  just  as  I  said  last 
night,  boys  are  all  top  ;  remove  that,  and  your  boy 
is  gone.  My  !  is  n't  there  a  remedy  for  all  this  ?" 
Joe  had  forgotten  some  things  his  mother  had 
said,  as  she  darned  and  talked  when  they  were 
alone  together,  the  evening  before. 

"  Oh  !  Joe,  this  is  positively  sickening,"  ex- 
claimed Frank  Colver,  a  couple  of  hours  later, 
when  he,  with  another  member  of  the  "nine," 
called  to  talk  over  the  prospect  for  the  game  in 
the  afternoon. 

"Let  Harry  go  to  the  Arctic  regions  if  he 
wants  the  days  shortened ;  or  to  the  dime  mu- 
seum ;  or  to  bed.  This  is  succumbing  to  sen- 
timent at  the  first  attack.  Did  n't  suppose  you 
could  be  captured  so  easily." 

"  Well,  then,  you  're  learning  something  new," 
replied  Joe,  smiling,  but  not  in  the  least  relaxing 
from  his  purpose. 


DIGGING  THE  TOP  OFF.  43 

"  But  really,  fellow,  what  do  you  mean  ?" 

"Mean  to  spend  the  afternoon  with  Harry. 
Carroll  is  going  to  take  my  work,  and  is  just  as 
good  a  pitcher.  The  fun  will  not  be  spoiled,  in 
the  least.  I  've  made  up  my  mind  to  do  this, 
and  am  going  to  do  it." 

"  Then  there  's  no  use  talking.  But  suppose 
we  elect  Carroll,  pitcher,  in  your  place  ?" 

"  Do  it,  if  you  like.  Ball-playing  is  not  the 
only  pastime  in  the  world." 

"Oh,  Joe  !"  pleaded  Tom  Merrill,  " give  up 
this  nonsense,  and  be  on  hand  at  two  o'clock. 
Simply  reading  to  Harry  is  n't  going  to  save  his 
life,  and  to-morrow  will  answer  as  well  as  to-day." 

"  Tom,  I  've  played  a  good  many  games  with 
you,  boys,  and  got  lots  of  fun  out  of  the  business, 
and  hope  I  shall  again  ;  but  this  afternoon,  Duty 
takes  the  lead.  Come  around,  a  little  after  tea, 
and  tell  me  how  the  game  went  off.  Encourage 
Carroll  to  do  his  best."  Thus  saying,  Joe  took 
Neddie  by  the  hand  and  walked  towards  the 


44  DIGGTNG  THE  TOP  OFF. 

house    while    his    companions    proceeded    down 
the  alley. 

About  a  quarter  past  two,  Joe  stood  on  the 
door-step  at  Mrs.  Mills',  waiting  to  be  admitted. 
Under  his  jacket  was  the  book  he  intended  to 
read  to  Harry,  if  reading  should  appear  to  be 
the  best  thing  to  do  for  him.  Its  title  we  do 
not  know.  It  is  not  necessary  we  should.  But 
we  are  quite  certain  it  was  not  yellow-covered, 
nor  illustrated  with  striking  wood-cuts,  especially 
designed  to  rivet  the  attention  of  young  read- 
ers, and  to  lure  them  on  through  hurtful  pages, 
in  spite  of  repeated  shocks  to  their  fine  sensi- 
bilities. The  volume  had  been  selected  by  the 
plain  little  Scotch  woman  who  possessed  such 
wonderful  mind-sight,  and  was  therefore  safe  for 
any  boy  to  read. 

Mrs.  Mills  opened  the  door.  "I  have  come 
to  sit  with  Harry  awhile,  if  you  have  no  objec- 
tions," announced  Joe,  his  face  bright  with  health 
and  contentment. 


DIGGING  THE  TOP  0 /•'/•'.  4-) 

w' Indeed,  Joe,  I'm  glad  you've  come.  You 
will  find  Harry  wrapped  in  the  blues.  His  arm 
pains  him  some,  and  he  feels  rather  lonely,  sup- 
posing every  boy  but  himself  has  left  the  neigh- 
borhood this  afternoon.  Boys  are  quite  like 
sheep,  I  think ;  where  one  goes  all  want  to 
go,"  remarked  the  lady  sweetly,  as  she  led  the 
way  to  her  son,  buried  in  a  large  easy-chair 
before  the  fire. 

Joe  stepped  up  to  the  chair,  held  out  his 
hand  to  the  occupant,  saying:  "Hello,  Harry. 
Got  tired  of  the  fellows  outside,  did  you  ?  and 
thought  you  'd  retreat  to  your  castle,  and  broke 
your  arm  as  an  excuse  for  doing  it  ?  How 's  the 
experiment  going  to  turn  out?  Any  difference 
between  castle  building  and  living  in  a  castle  ? 
Hope  you  can  at  least  stand  being  remembered,  for 
some  of  us  chaps  think  of  you  now  and  then." 

"Shouldn't  wonder  if  the  experiment  should 
turn  me  out  -before  it  ends,"  replied  the  pale 
boy,  his  face  brightening  at  sight  of  his  school- 


46  DIGGING  THE  TOP  OFF. 

mate.  "Joe,  you're  a  brick  to  call  in  on 
your  way.  Shut  up  here,  a  fellow  listens  to  the 
grumbling  of  his  pains  until  he  tires  of  their 
music.  Then,  too,  his  wants  fairly  talk  out  loud. 
Nothing  he  has  is  worth  any  thing,  and  every 
thing  he  has  not  is  worth  its  weight  in  gold.  In 
fact,  a  fellow  feels  as  though  every  thing  were  in 
a  tangle,  and  wonders  if  he  ever  will  find  the  end 
of  the  skein.  Wish  you  could  stay  awhile." 

"Just  what  I  came  for,"  said  Joe.  "Drop 
the  snarled  skein,  and  before  night  you  '11  feel 
like  a  Major-General." 

Joe  took  a  seat  offered  him  by  Mrs.  Mills, 
who,  herself  cheered  a  bit  because  she  saw  Harry 
was,  had  stood  waiting  for  the  dialogue  to  be 
finished.  She  then  left  the  boys  alone  and  went 
to  her  cares.  As  the  door  closed  after  her,  Harry 
turned  to  his  visitor  and  asked  : 

"  How  's  this,  Joe  ?  I  thought  you  were  to 
be  the  pitcher  at  that  game  this  afternoon." 

"Yes,  I'm  the- pitcher,"  answered  Joe, 


DIGGING  THE  TOP  OFF.  47 

"  Why  are  you  not  there  ?" 

"Because  I'm  here." 

••  Who  takes  your  place  ?" 

"Carroll." 

"What  is  that  for?" 

"  I  asked  him  to  do  so." 

"  Was  there  any  trouble  ?  Did  n't  the  boys 
want  you  ?" 

"There  was  no  trouble.  The  boys  did  want 
me." 

A  hot  thought  flashed  through  Harry's  mind. 
Could  Joe  have  withdrawn  from  the  game  simply 
that  he  might  spend  the  afternoon  with  him  ?  It 
looked  like  it,  certainly.  Then  looking  Joe  in 
the  face,  he  asked,  in  an  earnest  voice : 

"Joe,  did  you  give  up  your  place  in  the 
game  on  purpose  to  come  here  ?" 

"  I  did,  and  I  did  n't.  I  came  more  for  my 
own  good,  than  for  yours." 

"Old  fellow,  you  talk  in  riddles.  You  are 
not  shut  up.  You  haven't  a  broken  arm.  The 


48  DIGGING  THE  TOP  OFF. 

blues  don't  swarm  around  you.  How  is  it  for 
your  good  ?"  asked  Harry  with  the  short  cut, 
boys  naturally  take  with  each  other. 

"I'll  tell  you,  Harry.  I  wanted,  immensely, 
to  play  this  game.  It  cost  me  a  big  fight  with 
myself,  to  give  it  up.  My  mother — gracious  ! 
but  has  n't  she  sharp  eyes  ! — saw  that  selfishness 
and  some  other  hungry  traits  were  eating  me  up, 
and  proposed  I  should  begin  saving  my  life,  by 
taking  doses  of  self-denial,  and  that  I  should  be- 
gin this  morning,  taking  two  doses  to-day.  This 
is  the  second  dose.  I  was  three  hours  getting 
the  first  one  down.  I  knew  she  was  right  and 
fell  in  with  the  plam  That's  why  I 'in  "here. 
She  asked  me  to  come/' 

"And  I'm  the  boy  you  have  never  liked  very 
well,  Joe,"  broke  from  Harry,  frankly,  his  lips 
quivering  a  little.  "I  should  think  that  would 
make  the  afternoon  dose  a  tough  one." 

"  Now  there  you  're  off.  For  when  I  said 
I  'd  come,  I  began  to  like  you.  Now  I  'm  glad 


DIGGING  THE  TOP  OFF.  49 

I'm  here.  I  can't  tell  whether  I've  taken  the 
medicine  which  that  compound  word  represents 
or  not.  If  I  have,  it  is  a  more  agreeable  remedy 
than  I  supposed,  and  taken  long  enough  may  effect 
a  complete  cure. 

By  this  time,  all  Joe's  interest  in  the  subject 
of  digging  the  top  off  himself,  had  revived,  and 
he  most  ingenuously  rehearsed  the  history  of  his 
case  to  the  maimed  boy,  not  even  omitting  the 
tantalizing  part  Captolia  had  played  in  the  affair. 
When  he  had  concluded — with  the  talk  between 
his  mother  and  himself,  the  evening  before — 
Harry  with  some  effort  drew  himself  up  in  the 
great  chair,  saying: 

"Joe,  it  seems  to  me  that  you  have  been 
holding  a  looking-glass  before  me,  and  in  it  I 
have  seen  a  thick,  devouring  top  on  myself,  with 
the  same  bad  trait  on  the  outside  that  covers 
you.  I  can  see  that  selfishness  hugs  me  with 
the  grip  of  a  bear.  Many  a  time,  just  because 
I  have  but  one  hand,  I  have  curled  myself  up  in 

4  ' 


50  DIGGING  THE  TOP  OFF. 

this  chair,  and  let  my  father  and  mother  do  things 
for  me,  that  I  could  easily  have  done  for  myself. 
Many  a  time  I  fret  and  render  them  uncomfor- 
table, when  I  might  make  them  happy,  and  be 
so  myself.  I  tell  you !  Joe,  if  you  need  a  rem- 
edy, I -do.  I  'in  glad  you  've  told  me  that  about 
the  'kit  of  tools/  for  when  a  fellow  has  his  im- 
plements for  work  right  at  hand,  he 's  the  more 
likely  to  do  it." 

Thus  the  two  young  fellows  talked  on,  the 
game  of  ball  entirely  forgotten,  and  the  book 
Joe  brought  over  not  even  opened ;  but  their 
hearts  and  lives  were  opened  instead,  honestly, 
bravely  opened. 

A  little  after  five  o'clock,  Joe  stood  on  the 
sidewalk  in  front  of  Mr.  Art  well's,  waiting  to  take 
his  horse,  when  he  should  drive  up  from  busi- 
ness. His  evening  duties  performed,  the  boy 
went  home,  whistling  a  joyous  tune. 

Mrs.  Porter  happened  to  be  in  the  door- way 
as  he  came  up,  and  gave  him  a  quick,  inquiring 


DIGGING  THE  TOP  OFF.  51 

look.  His  whole  aspect  denoted  satisfaction  of 
mind.  By  this  she  felt  sure  he  had  come  out 
of  the  trial,  true  metal,  for  that  day  at  least. 

"It's  all  right,  isn't  it,  Joe?"  she  asked. 

"Yes,  mother,  and  I  now  think  you'd  make 
a  good  doctor  as  well  as  a  good  lawyer.  You 
know  how  to  preach,  too.  And  I'm  thankful 
you  know  how  to  cook." 

Mrs.  Porter  smiled;  took  the  hint;  kissed 
her  manly  boy,  and  urged  forward  the  supper. 


II. 


PEES, 


SEE  here !  boys.  Here  comes  Uncle 
Breckenridge  with  one  of  those  small 
square  frames,  whose  contents  are  war- 
ranted to  improve  hot  biscuit  and  light  grid- 
dle-cakes. Now  's  your  time  to  study  the 
amazing  geometry  of  those  little  fellows, 
striped  like  prison  clothes,  who  have  two 
wings  on  both  sides  of  them.  If  I  could  con- 
struct an  army  of  kites,  every  one  of  which 
would  stand  the  test  of  measurement,  as  do  the  cells 
of  bees,  I  should  expect  them  to  fly  without  wind." 

52 


BEES,  OR  SILKWORMS*  53 

• 

"That's  a  breezy  remark."  answered  John 
Morton,  "but  we  all  know  that  you  will  never 
make  one  kite  according  to  exact  measurement, 
BO  we  shall  never  be  gratified  with  the  sight  of  a 
whole  fleet  of  them,  propelled  by  perfect  dimen- 
HOIIS.  instead  of  air." 

There  was  a  deal  of  truth  in  John's  rejoinder. 
A. -curacy  in  doing  things  was  not  one  of  Harry 
Hall's  strong  points.  All  his  friends  knew  that. 
And  his  father  had  bestowed  upon  him  the  so- 
briquet of  ••  Short  Cut,"  because,  as  he  some- 
times said  : 

"It  seems  born  in  the  boy  to  seek  short  cuts 
from  the  beginning  to  the  end  of  every  thing  he 
does." 

Harry  had  no  patience  with  either  the  details 
or  difficulties  of  labor  or  study.  Such,  some- 
times, was  his  eagerness  to  know  the  outcome 
of  a  work,  that  he  would  omit  some  important 
step  on  which  it  depended.  As  a  matter  of 
.  there  were  very  few  a  Hairs  of  which 


04  BEES,  OE  SILKWORMS? 

he  had  any  thing  like  a  thorough  knowledge,  con- 
sequently he  often  found  himself  in  want  of  the 
information  he  had  failed  to  gain ;  and  not  sel- 
dom were  his  companions  compelled  to  help  him 
out  of  his  dilemma,  or  to  endure  the  mortifica- 
tion of  witnessing  the  exposure  of  his  ignorance. 

However,  the  youth  possessed  some  admira- 
ble traits.  He  loved  peace,  for  one  thing.  A 
wrangle  between  himself  and  his  school-fellows 
was  as  rare  as  snow  in  summer.  He  had  a 
pleasant  way  of  parrying  every  keen  thrust,  and 
in  the  present  instance  diverted  all  attention 
from  himself,  by  saying: 

"John,  the  sight  of  such  delicious  honey 
gives  me  an  appetite  as  sharp  as  the  sword  of 
an  elephant-hunter.  Just  notice,  boys,  when 
uncle  comes  up,  how  creamy  and  lace-like  that 
comb  is,  on  the  outside.  I  wish  uncle  would  be 
magnanimous  and  make  us  a  present  of  that  case. 
Let's  propose  it.  He's  not  small  nbout  any 
thing.  If  I  ever  get  to  be  the  owner  of  a  hun- 


BEES,  OR  SILKWORMS!  55 

dred  acres  of  land,  I'll  set  bee-hives  over  the 
whole  of  it." 

"  Will  you  have  bees  in  them?"  asked  John, 
who  always  quickly  saw  where  the  bars  were 
down. 

"  Come  around  and  see." 

Harry  was  one  of  a  group  of  four  boys  who 
were  whiling  away  an  hour'  of  a  pleasant  Sep- 
tember afternoon  on  the  front  door-step  of  Mr. 
Breckenridge's  house.  John  stood  leaning  against 
the  door-casing.  Harry  sat  on  the  stone  with 
hands  clasped  about  his  knees,  but  straightened 
up  at  sight  of  the  honey.  The  others  were 
lying  flat  on  their  backs,  looking  up  into  the 
blue  sky.  The  genial  sunlight  poured  down 
upon  them  all. 

Harry's  companions  were  his  near  neighbors, 
and  were  youths  as  bright  and  inquisitive  as 
they  were  different  in  character  and  appearance. 
Each  had  his  own  way  of  getting  on  with  the 
little  world  in  which  he  moved,  and  of  storing 


56  BEES,  OR  SILKWORMS? 

up  knowledge  for  future  use.  They  had  grown 
up  together,  and  each  had  a  habit  of  "  coming  to 
Harry's  aid"  whenever  he  "got  upset,"  except 
during  recitations  at  school.  There,  latterly, 
by  tacit  arrangement,  they  had  left  him  to 
stand  alone,  and  with  some  apparent  benefit  to 
the  boy. 

But  Mr.  Breckenridge  having  joined  the 
circle,  John  inquired  : 

"Mr.  Breckenridge,  what '11  you  take  for  that 
case  of  honey?" 

"  Take  ?"  repeated  the  gentleman,  making  a 
considerable  pause  before  uttering  the  next  word. 
"I'll  take  one  hour's  close  attention  from  four 
boys." 

"No  fault  to  find  with  that  arrangement," 
said  the  questioner,  with  the  cool  business-like 
manner  which  young  men  of  his  age  delight  to 
assume. 

"  Do  n't  know  that  we  '11  all  accede  to  that," 
volunteered  Stewart  Chisholm.  "It  depends 


BEES,  OR  SILKWORMS?  57 

upon  what  we  get  in  return.  About  how  much 
will  the  giving  attention  for  one  hour  increase 
our  fortunes,  Mr.  Breckenridge  ?" 

"Very  difficult  to  tell,"  answered  their  friend, 
as  he  seated  himself  on  the  door-step,  with  two 
hoys  on  each  side  of  him. 

"  Boys,"  he  continued,  refleciingly,  "  I  've 
been  thinking,  all  the  way  up  to  the  house,  how 
much  we  are  indebted  for  the  enjoyment  we 
have  in  this  world,  in  the  lines  of  food  and 
clothing,  to  two  small  insects." 

"  To  two  small  insects  !"  repeated  John,  not 
taking  much  time  to  think. 

"  Oh,  one 's  the  honey  bee,  uncle.  Now 
what's  the  other?"  asked  Harry,  taking  his  cus- 
tomary "short  cut." 

"The  silkworm,"  said  "Uncle  Will,"  briefly. 

"  Pity  us,  all  the  mulberry-trees  !"  exclaimed 
Stewart,  as  the  wide  field  of  silkworm  use- 
fulness opened  before  his  mind.  "  Never  have 
I  once  thought  what  an  important  part  that 


58  BEES,  OR  SILKWORMS? 

insect  plays  in  the  world.  How  can  we  figure 
that  out,  sir  ?" 

"No  doubt,  Mr.  Breckenridge,  the  silkworm 
is  a  factor  which  should  not  be  forgotten,  when 
we  speak  on  the  subject  of  producers,"  solemnly 
remarked  the  eldest  boy  of  the  group,  whose 
name  the  reader  has  not  learned.  "  But,  as  to  in- 
debtedness to  the  silkworm,  it  strikes  me  that 
very  few  men  have  a  heavy  score  to  settle. 
Women  carry  the  great  weight  of  obligation.  A 
man,  during  his  whole  life,  wears  out  less  Silk 
than  it  takes  to  make  one  dress  for  a  woman." 

"True,"  returned  Mr.  Breckenridge,  "particu- 
larly in  America.  Still,  in  some  eastern  countries 
the  men,  especially  of  the  wealthier  classes, 
wear  rich  garments  of  silk." 

"By  the  way,"  added  the  former  speaker, 
dryly,  "  it  occurs  to  me  that  silkworms  rival 
women  in  talent  for  yarn-spinning." 

"  Let  us  be  careful  to  cast  no  reflections  upon 
women,  indiscriminately,  my  boy,"  said  Uncle 


BEES,  OR  SILKWORMS?  59 

Will,  rather  gravely.  "No  true  man  will  do 
that.  Think  a  moment.  Four  different  women 
are  the  mothers  of  you,  boys.  Not  one  of  them 
belongs  to  the  class  you  refer  to.  My  wife  is 
not  such  a  woman.  To  look  a  little  further,  not 
a  woman  of  the  neighborhood  busies  herself 
telling  news,  or  gossip,  from  house  to  house. 
In  fact,  nearly  every  woman  you  know,  is 
a  prudent  woman,  not  in  the  least  given  to 
tattling." 

To  these  remarks  not  one  of  the  boys  made 
answer.  And  after  a  moment,  Mr.  Brecken- 
ridge  asked,  smilingly  :  "  How  soon  shall  I  have 
your  attention  ?" 

"This  very  instant,  sir.  Your  congregation 
is  ready,"  answered  Stewart,  the  other  boys  not 
having  recovered  themselves  after  the  above 
gentle  reproof. 

"Well,  then,  how  much  do  the  wisest  of  you 
know  about  bees  and  silkworms  ?" 

"  I  believe  I  know  that  bees  are   bees,  and 


CO  BEES,  OR  SILKWORMS? 

that  silkworms  are  silkworms,"  admitted  John, 
after  a  moment  of  silence,  during  which  all  tried 
to  think  what  they  really  did  know. 

"  Humph  !  I  can  go  ahead  of  that.  I  know 
that  bees  make  honey  and  that  silkworms  make 
silk,"  said  another. 

"Very  well,  boys.  Now,  in  which  of  these 
classes  of  insects  are  you  most  interested  ?  We 
have  time  to  talk  about  one,  only,  this  afternoon." 

"In  the  silkworms,  of  course,"  cried  two  or 
three. 

"  "For,"  added  young  Chisholm,  "every  one 
of  us  has  seen  bees  and  eaten  honey,  but  not 
one  of  us  ever  saw  a  silkworm." 

"We  enter  the  domain  of  the  marvelous,  in 
insect  life,  the  moment  we  begin  to  talk  about 
silkworms,"  stated  Mr.  Breckenridge.  "  The  sin- 
gle fact,  that  in  the  United  States  alone,  are  an- 
nually consumed  over  four  hundred  million  dol- 
lars' worth  of  raw  silk  and  costly  silk  fabric-, 
which  are  the  product  of  these  short-lived  crea- 


BEES,   Oli  SILKWORMS?  01 

hires,  is  itself  wonderful.  And  every  year,  as 
the  number  of  our  citizens  who  can  afford  to  wear 
such  goods,  multiplies,  the  great  aggregate  in- 
creases. No  other  insect  in  the  world  performs 
a  work,  at  all  approaching  that  of  the  silkworm, 
in  wonder  and  magnitude,  unless  it  be  that  tiny 
zoophyte,  the  coral  builder,  which  uprears  entire 
groups  of  islands  in  the  sea ;  or,  possibly  the 
industrious  worm,  which  overlays  deeply  large 
districts  of  the  globe  with  soil. 

"  However,  we  are  not  to  deal  with  the  money 
aspect  of  the  silk  subject  this  afternoon ;  but 
rather  with  the  marvelous  life  of  the  silk-makers 
themselves,  with  the  manner  in  which  the  silk 
is  generated  by  the  worm,  and  with  the  beautiful 
act  by  which  the  insect  closes  its  brief  day  on 
earth.  The  first  feature  is  the  cold  prose  of  the 
subject.  The  latter  topics  are  its  inspiring 
poetry." 

As  Mr.  Breckenridge  ceased  speaking,  to  de- 
termine what  he  should  next  say,  John  remarked  : 


62  PEES,  OR  SILKWORMS? 

"We  are  all  eager  to  learn  the  utmost  we 
can  on  this  subject,  sir,  and  hope  you  '11  take 
time  to  tell  us." 

"And  don't  fail  to  tell  us  just  how  the 
cocoon  is  spun,  and  about  the  strange  awakening 
of  the  chrysalis  from  its  slumber,"  added  Stewart. 

"Those  are  fascinating  parts  of  the  story, 
my  young  friend.  Some  other  insects,  however, 
undergo  the  same  awakening  from  sleep.  And 
we,  ourselves,  after  our  long  slumber  in  death, 
shall  waken  and  rise  from  the  grave,  not  with 
these  'vile  bodies,'  but  with  bodies  ' fashioned  like 
Christ's  glorious  body,'  if  we  have  died  in  him," 
said  the  man  impressively. 

"  The  most  amazing  feature  of  the  silkworm's 
work,"  he  continued,  "is  the  transmuting,  within 
its  own  body,  and  by  an  invisible  process,  the 
fresh  green  leaves  of  certain  varieties  of  mulberry- 
trees,  into  a  substance,  which,  when  spun  from 
their  mouths,  and  subjected  to  the  various  oper- 
ations of  cleansing1,  doubling,  and  twisting,  is 


BEES,  OR  SILKWORMS?  63 

manufactured  into  silks,  and  satins,  and  velvets, 
whose  sheen  and  luster  are  the  delight  of  the 
world." 

"But  our  talk  shall  begin  with  the  egg 
from  which  the  insect  springs,  and  shall  proceed 
through  all  the  stages  until  we  come  to  its  costly 
product." 

"  Yes,"  interrupted  Stewart,  once  more,  "that 
is  beginning  with  the  very  alphabet  of  the  busi- 
ness— the  sensible  plan — a  path  to  knowledge 
that  is  well  worn,  but  I  like  it." 

"  The  moth  of  the  silkworm,"  the  instructor 
went  on,  "  deposits  her  eggs  either  on  sheets  of 
paper,  or  on  strips  of  thin  cloth,  prepared  for  the 
purpose,  by  the  silk-farmer.  The  eggs  are  ex- 
ceedingly small,  nearly  round,  flattened  slightly, 
like  a  turnip,  and  when  first  laid,  are  yellow." 

"The  moth  is  allowed  ample  room  to  move 
about,  so  that  no  eggs  may  be  laid  upon  others, 
thereby  injuring  them,  possibly,  and  preventing 
the  finest  grades  of  cocoons.  The  insect  deposits 


64  BEES,  OR  SILKWORMS? 

her  eggs  in  regular,  circular  order,  the  average 
number  laid  by  one  moth  being  about  three 
hundred." 

"  This  act  performed,  the  mission  of  the  moth 
is  ended.  And  since  it  does  not  eat,  it  dies  ; 
having  provided  for  its  own  reproduction,  three 
hundred  fold,  in  the  lives  soon  to  follow." 

"Amazing!  Uncle,  your  words  take  my  very 
breath  away,"  gasped  Harry. 

"An  ounce  of  i grain,'  as  the  eggs  are  called, 
by  the  silk-growers,  if  in  prime  condition,  will 
hatch  thirty  thousand  active  silkworms,  and  one 
hundred  and  twenty-five  healthy  moths  will  lay 
at  least  an  ounce  of  grain." 

Here  one  of  the  listeners  threw  himself  back- 
ward upon  the  hard  stone,  and  whistled  a  long 
note  of  astonishment  into  the  air,  exclaiming  at 
the  end  of  it :  "  Fellows,  hear  that !  One  hun- 
dred and  twenty-five  moths  become  the  mothers 
of  thirty  thousand  worms !  Yes,  and  more  than 
that,  Mr.  Breokenridge" — here  the  boy  raised 


BEES,  OR  SILKWORMS?  65 

himself  up  quickly,  saying :  "  If5  as  you  have 
just  said,  each  moth  averages  about  three  hun- 
dred eggs,  they  will  produce  57,500  insects/' 

"  Uncle  Will "  smiled  and  proceeded  to  say  : 
"Until  the  time  arrives  for  hatching  the  eggs, 
they  are  kept  in  a  cool,  dry  place.  cln  very 
warm  latitudes,  ice-houses  are  sometimes  used  for 
the  purpose/  the  life-germs  being  indestructible 
by  frost.  However,  from  whatever  place  they 
are  stored,  rats,  mice,  ants,  flies,  and  spiders 
must  be  rigidly  excluded." 

"  How  long  does  it  take  the  eggs  to  hatch, 
Mr.  Breckenridge  ?" 

"  From  four  to  six  days.  Upon  the  approach 
of  the  silk-making  season,  the  silk-farmer  car- 
ries his  precious  i  grain '  into  his  cocoonery,  if  he 

have  one,  and  if  not,  into  some  warm  room  of  his 

\ 

home,  where  he  maintains  an  even  temperature 
until  the  young  worms  appear.  To  insure  the 
highest  success  in  his  business,  he  should  do  this 

until  the  insects  have  gained  maturity,  performed 

5 


66  BEES,  OR  SILKWORMS? 

their   beautiful   operation  of  spinning,  and  have 
fallen  asleep  in  their  costly  tomb." 

Here  the  lover  of  insects  stopped  short  for  a 
moment. 

"Is  that  the  end  of  the  matter,  sir?  Where 
do  the  moths  themselves  come  from?"  inquired 
one  youth,  disappointed  over  the  sudden  burial 
of  so  many  interesting  laborers,  and  his  curiosity 
in  regard  to  their  mysterious  life  and  mission  not 
half  satisfied. 

"  In  from  twelve  to  fifteen  days  after  the  silk- 
worm's change  to  this  chrysalis  state,"  resumed 
Mr.  Breckenridge,  "  there  is  a  living  moth  in  the 
cocoon  ready  to  make  its  exit  into  the  world. 
But  it  finds  itself  a  close  prisoner  in  its  silken 
inclosure,  from  which,  apparently,  there  is  no 
escape.  And,  curiously  enough,  the  insect  has 
no  mouth  with  which  to  eat  its  way  out.  This 
fact  reveals  the  reason  why  the  moth  never  eats. 
But  escape  the  captive  must,  else,  at  the  next 
silk  season,  there  will  be  three  hundred  less  silk- 


BEES,  OR  SILKWORMS?  67 

makers  in  the  world.  Thus  we  find  that  the 
Creator,  mindful  of  the  purpose  for  which  he 
made  the  moth,  has  provided  therefor. 

"Near  where  the  mouth  of  the  prisoner 
should  be,  there  are  two  small  glands,  filled  with 
a  liquid  strongly  alkaline.  And  at  one  end  of  the 
cocoon  are  the  fibers  of  the  thread,  held  firmly 
together  by  an  adhesive  substance.  With  the 
contents  of  these  glands  the  moth  softens  this 
glutinous  matter.  Then,  with  a  vigorous  forward 
and  backward  movement  of  the  body,  the  lively 
little  being  forces  its  way  out,  into  light  and 
liberty,  with  wings  all  damp  and  wrinkled. 

"  The  moths  usually  make  their  appearance 
about  nine  o'clock  in  the  morning.  Now  think 
what  an  animated  appearance  must  then  be  pre- 
sented by  the  shelves  on  which  are  spread  the 
papers  or  strips  of  muslin  to  receive  the  grain. 
Everywhere  are  tiny  wings  outstretched  to  dry. 
Now  swiftly  goes  the  time  until  between  four 
and  five  o'clook  in  the  afternoon.  Then  the 


68  BEES,  OR  SILKWORMS? 

female,  being  about  seven  hours  old,  is  ready  to 
begin  to  lay.  This  act  performed,  she  dies,  as 
you  already  know,  and  the  paper,  or  cloth,  bear- 
ing her  eggs,  is  laid  away  in  a  cool,  dry,  safe 
place  until  the  hatching  season." 

"How  large  is  the  moth,  sir  ?" 

"  About  an  inch  in  length,  and  of  a  delicate 
yellow  color." 

"  Now,  Mr.  Breckenridge,"  said  the  boy  with- 
out a  name,  "  please  tell  us  how  old  the  worms 
are  when  they  begin  to  make  their  silk?  That's 
the  sort  of  yarn-spinning  I  respect.  It 's  useful ; 
breaks  nobody's  heart;  destroys  nobody's  char- 
acter." Since  his  former  allusion  to  spinning, 
this  youth  had  spoken  not  a  word.  He  had 
thought  the  more,  however. 

"Allow  me  to  answer  your  question  somewhat 
indirectly,"  replied  his  friend  politely.  "On  the 
fourth  or  fifth  day  after  they  are  hatched,  the 
young  worms  cease  eating,  an  occupation  in 
which  they  have  delighted  up  to  this  time,  and 


BEES,  OR  SILKWORMS?  69 

enter  upon  their  first  moulting  sleep.  This  is  a 
momentous  period  in  silkworm  life.  The  insect  is 
very  tender,  and  must  be  kept  in  unbroken  quiet." 

Here  every  boy  drew  closer  to  the  speaker, 
and  prepared  to  catch  every  word. 

"Any  sudden  noise,  as  heavy  thunder,  the 
discharge  of  a  gun  near,  the  ringing  of  a  large 
bell,  the  violent  closing  of  a  door,  loud  laughter, 
and  even  the  lighting  of  an  explosive  match,  are 
all  said  to  be  hurtful  to  them,  and  sometimes  fatal." 

"  Earthquakes  and  the  rumble  of  fire  engines 
must  give  them  a  tough  experience,"  remarked 
Stewart.  "And  how  would  they  stand  bands  of 
music,  and  the  racket  of  Fourth-of-July  cele- 
brations." 

"  Do  n't  interrupt,  boy.  Let  Uncle  Will  go 
on  about  the  moulting,"  cried  Harry,  vigorously 
thrusting  his  elbow  into  the  other's  side. 

"  The  worms,"  proceeded  Mr.  Breckenridge, 
not  in  tfye  least  put  out  by  these  sharp  sallies 
from  the  boys,  "  are  then  much  in  the  condition 


70  BEES,  OR  STLKWOKMSt 

of  helpless  infants,  and  demand  the  gentlest  care. 
They  pass  through  four  of  these  crises  before 
performing  their  last  beautiful  act,  and  emerge 
from  each  with  a  ravenous  appetite.  After  the 
fourth  sleep  especially,  their  hunger  is  intense, 
and  bountiful  provision  must  now  be  made  to 
satisfy  it. 

"  The  greedy  creatures  eat  night  and  day, 
rapidly  accumulating  the  substance  of  which  the 
cocoon  is  to  be  spun.  During  this  final  feast, 
leaves,  fresh  from  the  mulberry-trees,  are  con- 
veyed into  the  larger  cocooneries  by  the  wagon- 
load,  and  scattered  about  among  the  revelers. 
Imagine  them  !  Thousands  of  worms  !  a  bill  of 
fare  of  but  one  dish  !  and  every  worm  intent 
upon  securing  the  very  utmost  of  that.  See 
them  !  A  great  army  of  little  alchemists,  trans- 
muting, by  their  invisible  chemistry,  the  simple 
green  leaves,  into  a  product  totally  different,  but 
very  valuable,  and  very  beautiful ! 

"The  four  moulting  seasons,  if  all  the  condi- 


BEES,  OR  SILKWORMS*  71 

tions  are  good,  begin  on  about  the  fifth,  eighth, 
thirteenth,  and  twenty-fourth  days.  The  last,  or 
fifth  stage  of  their  life  embraces,  usually,  ten 
days,  making  the  whole  period  of  existence  about 
thirty-two  days.  During  these  ten  days  the 
'silk  matter'  is  stored  away,  the  appetite  of  the 
larva  wanes,  and  lastly  spinning  begins." 

Here  Mr.  Breckenridge  waited  a  moment  or 
two,  and  the  boys  improved  the  opportunity  by 
making  such  remarks  as  were  suggested  by  the 
facts  brought  out. 

"  So  then,"  broke  forth  the  nameless  auditor, 
"it  is  by  stuffing  the  poor  silkworms  until  they 
die,  that  the  world  is  furnished  with  its  silks,  and 
satins,  and  velvets  !  Never  after  this,  shall  I 
see  a  woman  decked  out  in  any  of  these  fabrics, 
without  thinking  how  many  innocent  worms 
have  died,  that  she  might — dress !  It  is  a  com- 
fort to  know  that  my  clothes  are  made  of  linen, 
and  cotton,  and  wool.  A  sheep  lives  after  you 
have  removed  his  fleece." 


72  BEES,  OR  SILKWORMS? 

% 

"Ha!  ha!  How  long  does  he  live  after 
you  have  eaten  him  ?"  cried  John  Hawkins, 
very  little  moved  by  the  other's  sentiment. 
"  The  thing,  sir,  which  strikes  me  as  most  won- 
derful in  all  this,  is,  that  the  worms  appear  to 
realize  what  they  are  doing,  and  keep  at  it  until 
they  die.  Would  a  boy  among  us  stand  up  to 
duty  like  that?" 

Said  another,  promptly  :  "  Mr.  Breckenridge, 
could  you  explain  to  us  more  particularly,  how 
these  worms  change  mulberry-leaves  into  silk?" 

"  From  the  hour  the  silkworm  leaves  the 
egg,"  responded  Mr.  Breckenridge,  "mulberry- 
leaves  are  its  chief  article  of  food.  The  varie- 
ties said  to  be  best  adapted  to  the  purpose  are 
the  white  and  the  Chinese  mulberry.  For  newly 
hatched  worms  the  delicate  young  foliage  of  the 
latter  is  much  the  better.  Prior  to  the  first 
moulting  sleep,  however,  the  tender  leaves  of 
lettuce  are  often  substituted. 

"  The  mulberry-leaf  is  composed  of  a  variety 


BEES,  OR  SILKWORMS*  73 

of  substances.  Those  most  concerned  in  silk- 
making  are  the  saccharine  and  resinous  prop- 
erties. The  latter  produce  the  silk,  while  the 
former  nourish  and  build  up  the  worm. 

"  The  tireless  little  eater  takes  in  the  resinous 
matter  constantly,  and  by  a  peculiar,  but  inex- 
plicable, internal  process,  refines,  or  changes  it, 
into  a  thick  liquid  substance,  which  it  stores 
away  in  little  narrow  receptacles,  called  silk 
chambers,  and  which  are  arranged  in  spiral  folds 
on  either  side  of  the  stomach.  From  these  de- 
positories, slender  canals,  or  ducts,  lead  to  the 
mouth  of  the  worm.  Through  these  tubes  the 
transmuted  resinous  matter  comes  forth  in  the 
form  of  silk,  the  two  threads  uniting  in  one, 
just  before  entering  the  mouth,  during  the  act 
of  spinning. 

"  By  the  time  these  silk  chambers  are  full, 
the  silk-maker  has  ceased  to  grow,  and  is  about 
three  and  one-half  inches  in  length,  its  color 
much  resembling  that  of  a  young  infant. 


74  BEES,  OR  SILKWORMS? 

"The  worm,  now  in  the  final  days  of  its  life, 
loses  its  appetite,  and  urged  by  its  instinct  to 
spin,  moves  about  uneasily,  in  search  of  a  suita- 
ble spot  for  the  act  to  take  place.  Finally, 
climbing  upon  the  leafy  twig,  little  sheaf  of 
straw,  or  slender  frame,  which  the  silk-farmer 
has  provided,  it  there  attaches  itself  inside  an 
airy  envelope  of  floss  silk,  of  its  own  manufacture. 
Within  this  filmy  covering,  it  now  spins  the 
cocoon,  formed  of  one  continuous  thread,  about 
twelve  hundred  feet  in  length.  As  we  have 
seen,  this  thread  is  formed  of  a  brilliant  filament 
from  each  little  canal.  The  worm  builds  the 
cocoon  as  it  spins,  winding  the  thread  in  irregular 
circles,  by  unequal  movements  of  the  head, 
bending  the  body  up  and  down,  and  crossing  the 
thread  to  every  part,  thus  forming  the  outer  walls 
of  its  tomb.  This  it  lines,  inside,  with  a  silk, 
still  finer  and  softer,  and  lastly,  it  dresses  the 
whole  with  a  smooth  glutinous  matter  which 
keeps  out  both  air  and  water.  It  proposes  to 


BEES,  OR  SILKWORMS?  75 

slumber  in  comfort  and  security,  you  observe, 
until  its  resurrection  takes  place." 

"You  were  right,  sir,  in  saying  that  one 
enters  a  world  of  wonders  when  he  begins  to 
study  about  silkworms.  Can  you  give  us  the 
size  of  the  cocoons?'1  asked  John. 

"  They  vary  in  length,  from  an  inch  to  an 
inch  and  a  half,  and  in  shape  resemble  a 
pigeon's  egg." 

"  And  the  color  ?" 

"  They  are  usually  either  white  or  light  yel- 
low. The  white  cocoons  have  an  external  wrap- 
ping called  'the  sheath.'  In  the  yellow  cocoons, 
this  sheath  lies  beneath  what  is  termed  '  the  color 
layer  of  the  silk.'  Deprived  of  this,  the  thread 
of  the  cocoon  would  be  worthless,  like  that  of 
the  spider." 

"  Please  tell  us  why." 

"  It  preserves  the  strength  and  brilliancy  of 
the  fiber,  and  keeps  the  layers  of  thread  in  place, 
and  both  these  conditions  are  very  important. 


76  BEES,  OR  SILKWORMS? 

Silk  fiber,  as  compared  with  various  other  kinds 
of  fiber,  is  the  strongest  known ;  and  the  thread 
from  cocoons  containing  male  moths,  is  both  finer 
and  firmer  than  that  from  the  female  cocoons. 
And  it  is  claimed  that  cocoons  raised  in  France 
exceed  those  of  all  other  silk-growing  countries 
in  the  strength  of  their  filament.  It  is  quite 
certain,  however,  that  those  produced  in  Cali- 
fornia rival  them  in  this  respect." 

"  How  long  does  it  take  a  silkworm  to  spin 
a  cocoon,  uncle  ?" 

"  From  three  to  five  days,  Harry,  and  during 
the  time,  a  certain  degree  of  temperature  must 
be  preserved ;  for  at  a  certain  stage  of  cold,  the 
contents  of  the  silk  chambers  congeal,  and  im- 
.perfect  spinning  is  the  result." 

"I  begin  to  think  that  you  yourself  are 
the  prince  of  spinners,  Mr.  Breckenridge.  But  it 
seems  to  me  your  subject  will  not  be  finished  up 
tip-top,  unless  you  tell  us  how  silk  is  prepared  for 
the  loom,"  said  the  boy  with  no  name,  taking  out 


BEES,  OR  SILKWORMS?  77 

his  silver  watch  to  see   if  it  were  near  supper- 
time. 

"If   there   is  time,  I  will  go   on,"  answered 

that   gentleman,  a  pleasant    smile   playing   over 

his   face,  for   he   always  found  great  delight  in 

these  talks  with  the  four  boys. 

.    aWe  have  fifteen  minutes.     Can  you  do  it?" 

"  Yes,  sir,  and  have  time  for  interrup- 
tions." 

"During  the  first  three  days  after  the  spin- 
ning of  the  cocoon,  the  larva,  or  worm,  within  it 
is  transformed  into  a  chrysalis.  This  done,  the 
silk-farmer  places  such  cocoons  as  are  to  be  used 
for  producing  grain  in  boxes,  and  puts  them 
away  in  some  secure  spot.  Those  intended  for 
silk  manufacture  may,  or  may  not,  be  at  once 
prepared  for  reeling.  If  circumstances  are  sifch 
that  the  reeling  can  not  take  place  within  the 
first  nine  or  ten  days,  the  chrysalis  must  be  de- 
stroyed. For  soon  it  would  be  changed  into  a 
moth,  and  in  forcing  its  way  out  of  the  cocoon, 


78  BEES,  OR  SILKWORMS? 

would  break  some  of  the  beautiful  threads  and 
much  diminish  the  value  of  the  silk." 

"The  reeling  must  be  no  easy  job,  uncle. 
Bring  in  the  way  it  is  done,  if  you  can." 

"  Reeling  the  cocoons  is  indeed  an  important 
part  of  the  proceedings,  and  requires  trained  and 
skillful  operators.  The  work  may  be  done  either 
by  hand  or  by  machinery,  in  a  building  called  'a 
filature.'  A  number  of  cocoons  are  first  placed 
in  a  vessel  containing  water  heated  nearly  to 
boiling  point.  This  softens  the  gum  which  makes 
the  threads  adhere,  and  loosens  their  ends. 
These  are  now  collected  by  means  of  a  small 
broom,  to  which  they  readily  cling,  and  are  formed 
into  two  strands  of  several  threads  each. 

"The  strands  are  then  twisted  together 
slightly,  by  the  hands,  then  separated  above  the 
twist,  and  run  through  a  succession  of  little  glass 
eyelets,  on  their  way  to  the  reel.  Before  touch- 
ing the  reel,  all  are  united  in  one  thread.  The 
reel,  set  in  motion,  revolves  steadily  and  rapidly, 


BEES,  OR  SILKWORMS?  79 

with  a  to-and-fro  side  movement,  until  the  co- 
coons are  unwound,  thus  laying  the  threads  in 
spirals,  so  that  they  do  not  touch  each  other, 
while  fresh  from  the  water.  This  peculiar  lat- 
eral motion,  kept  up  through  subsequent  doub- 
lings and  twistings,  produces  the  diagonal  cross- 
ing of  the  thread.  The  skeins  formed  by  the 
first  reeling,  are  termed  '  raw  silk/  In  China, 
for  purposes  of  exportation,  the  silk  is  made  up 
into  bundles  called  'books.' 

"I  have  now  described  to  you  silk  reeling, 
as  done  in  a  filature,  with  machinery  driven  by 
steam.  Now  follow  the  various  processes  of 
cleansing,  after  which  the  silk  is  again  twisted, 
once  only,  or  is  doubled  and  twisted  a  second 
time,  according  as  it  is  intended  for  the  warp  or 
filling  of  fabrics.  Lastly,  it  is  run  off  on  small 
reels,  removed,  and  tied  in  6  hanks,'  when,  with 
the  exception  of  dyeing,  it  is  ready  for  the 
manufacturer." 

"Now,    Mr.    Breckenridge,   we    owe  you   a 


80  BEES,  OR  SILKWORMS? 

rousing  vote  of  thanks,  and  we'll  give  it  stand- 
ing ;  but,  let  me  first  remind  you  that  you  have 
omitted  one  important  item." 

"What  is  that,  John?" 

"  The  telling  us  how  the  chrysalis  is  destroyed 
in  the  cocoon." 

"That  is  important.     Glad  you  mentioned  it. 

"The  chrysalis  may  be  killed,  either  by 
steam,  or  by  artificial  heat,  applied  in  an  oven, 
both  of  which  modes  are  practiced  in  some  silk 
countries.  They  may  also  be  destroyed  by  ex- 
posing them  several  hours,  during  three  or  four 
days,  to  the  direct  rays  of  the  sun.  The  latter, 
undoubtedly,  is  the  best  method,  because  it 
leaves,  uninjured,  all  the  fine  qualities  of  the  silk. 

"Now,  boys,  I  think  you  have  won  the  honey 
and  deserve  your  supper.  I  am  much  obliged 
to  you.  Good-night," 


•• 


' 


III. 


.BUSINESS  OF 


"THE  business  of  life  is  to  understand  the  Lord  Christ. 
Nothing  else  is  to  be  called  the  business  of  life." 

"  In  the  half-lights  between  sleeping  and  waking,  wafts 
of  melodies  began  to  steal  in  upon  him." 


AT  EDDIE,  what  is  that  I  hear?     Is  it  sing- 
ing?  or  is  it  the  wind  ?" 

"I  hear  nothing,  father.     There  is  no 
wind.     You  must  have  been  dreaming." 

"  No,  Neddie,  I  have  been  awake  some  time, 
and  have  been  thinking  of  the  home  I  had  on  a 

6  81 


82  THE  BUSINESS  OF  LIFE. 

mountain  side  when  I  was  a  boy,  and  of  the  strong 
winds  that  sometimes  blew  around  it.  What 
songs  they  sung  around  the  windows,  and  about 
the  chimney-top  !  What  tunes  they  played  on 
the  tall  cedar-trees  by  the  front  door  !  How7  they 
drove  the  snow-flakes  down  the  valley,  and  the 
rain  against  my  window-panes ! 

"I  wish  I  could  have  heard  them,  father. 
Does  n't  it  make  a  boy  very  strong  to  grow  up  on 
a  mountain  side,  where  there  is  plenty  of  rock  to 
stand  upon,  and  a  chance  to  see  miles  away  ?  I  'm 
sorry  I  never  saw  the  place  where  you  were  born." 

"Strange!  how  memory  bridges  .over  the 
years,"  continued  the  man,  not  answering  the 
boy's  question.  "  From  my  childhood  to  this 
night,  seems  no  longer  than  the  flash  of  the  re- 
volving light  down  on  the  pier.  The  tones  of 
the  wind  among  those  cedars  sound  as  soft  and 
sweet  as  when  I  really  listened  to  them  forty 
roars  ago.  Oh,  why  !  when  tempted,  was  I  not 
like  that  mountain,  immovable  ?" 


THE  BUSINESS  OF  LIFE.  83 

The  lad  was  startled,  but  remained  silent,  not 
knowing  what  to  say.  It  was  the  first  time  he 
had  ever  heard  his  father  refer  so  particularly  to 
this  home,  or  express  regret  over  the  past. 

ilOh,  if  the  innocence  of  those  first  fifteen 
years  could  only  amend  the  evil  of  all  the  rest !" 
he  added,  half  talking  to  himself  and  half  list- 
ening to  the  old  tunes. 

"  Could  it  do  that,  papa  ?  Does  -our  goodness 
accomplish  any  thing  for  us,  in  the  way  of  offset- 
ting our  sins  ?  Was  n't  Christ  delivered  for  our 
offenses  ?" 

"  What  do  you  mean,  Neddie?" 

"I  fear  I  can't  explain  it,  papa;  but  the 
Bible  says,  i  There  is  none  that  doeth  good;  no, 
not  one.  They  are  all  gone  out  of  the  way.' 
So  it  must  be  that  what  we  ourselves  call  good- 
ness, isn't  goodness,  in  God's  sight.  I  think 
if  we  look  only  to  ourselves,  we  're  in  a  pretty 
bad  case. 

ulf  I  could  only  be  placed  back  there,  with 


84  THE  KUMNKSS  OF  LIFE. 

the  same  opportunity  to  choose,"  said  the  man, 
sadly. 

"Wouldn't  you  make  the  same  choice,  papa, 
under  the  same  circumstances?"  All  this  time 
Neddie  had  stroked  away,  gently,  the  heavy 
brown  hair  from  the  man's  forehead. 

"I'm  sure  I've  heard  mother  say,"  he  went 
on,  because  his  father  seemed  interested,  "that 
God  made  Christ,  who  never  sinned,  to  be  sin 
for  us  ;  and  he  made  him  also  to  be  righteousness 
unto  us.  So,  if  we  let  these  things  be  so,  because 
they  are  God's  arrangement  for  us,  and  take 
Christ  as  our  righteousness,  and  let  our  own 
goodness  go,  we  shall  please  God." 

Perched  against  a  high  bluff,  on  the  north 
side  of  Ocean  Street,  was  the  house  in  which 
dwelt  this  father  and  son.  From  the  outside  it 
looked  as  if  it  were  hung  upon  hooks,  fastened 
to  the  embankment.  When  the  fierce  north  wind 
blow,  it  rooked  ]ikp  n  ornHlp.  Thrpp  ftr  fo«r  hnlf- 
rotted  steps  led  from  the  door  l<>  llir  sidewalk. 


Till:  liUSINESti  OF  LIVE.  85 

There  were  two  rooms  in  the  building.  And  at 
the  time  of  which  I  am  writing,  three  hours 
after  sunset,  of  a  cold  Sunday  evening  in  Decem- 
ber. 1870,  iloger  Mason  and  Neddie  occupied  but 
one  of  them. 

The  day  had  been  cloudy  and  windy.  But 
at  this  hour,  every  cloud  had  disappeared,  and 
the  wind  had  died  away.  The  bright  moonlight 
fell  through  the  cold  air  and  photographed,  dis- 
tinctly, on  the  gray  ground,  the  form  of  a  stunted 
maple,  standing  near  the  door. 

On  a  rough  frame,  serving  the  purpose  of  a 
bedstead,  lay  Roger  Mason,  his  form  bent  up  to 
accommodate  itself  to  the  length  of  the  couch. 
His  head  rested  on  a  dirty  pillow.  The  compan- 
ions of  the  bedstead,  in  the  line  of  'furniture, 
were  an  old  cooking-stove,  two  chairs  without 
backs,  a  sort  of  lounge  on  which  the  son  slept, 
and  a  piece  of  wide  board  which  answered  for  a 
table.  The  only  cheerful  feature  of  the  place  was 
a  broad  patch  of  moonlight  that  lay  on  the  tloor. 


86  THE  BUSINESS  OF  LH<E.  m 

On  one  of  the  broken  chairs,  his  feet  braced 
against  the  stove,  now  almost  cold,  sat  the  boy, 
lonely,  hungry,  and  thinking,  when  his  father's 
first  question  called  him  to  the  bedside.  He  was 
thinking  of  his  mother — a  thing  he  had  the  habit 
of  doing  early  in  the  evening — who  had  gone  to 
the  grave  fully  a  year  before.  To  her  boy  she 
was  as  much  a  rare  and  beautiful  thing,  as  are 
pearls  and  diamonds.  What  she  said,  and  what 
she  thought,  were  law  to  him.  He  knew  she 
lived  out,  in  a  furnace  of  trial,  the  principles  she 
taught  him.  Though  in  abject  poverty,  she  was 
yet  a  rich  woman,  because  she  was  Christ's, 
whose  are  all  things. 

The  strokes  of  his  child's  hand  had  a  sooth- 
ing effect  upon  the  sick  man,  and  soon  he 
dropped  off  into  an  uneasy  slumber.  Neddie 
then  turned  to  the  window,  and  stood  for  some 
time,  looking  at  the  buildings  opposite,  and 
thinking  how  different  must  have  been  the  views 
from  the  windows  of  his  grandfather's  home. 


THE  BUSINESS  OF  LIFE.  8  / 

Should  he  ever  look  down  that  lovely  valley,  or 
climb  that  rugged  mountain  ? 

Just  then  a  moan  recalled  his  wandering 
thoughts,  and  springing  to  the  bedside,  he  asked  : 
^  What  can  I  do  for  you,  papa?  Do  you  feel 
better  for  your  sleep  ?" 

"•No,  Neddie,  no  better.  I  shall  never  be 
any  better,  my  son,  NEVER,"  he  repeated  slowly, 
as  if  trying  to  measure  the  duration  of  "never." 
"  I  'in  like  a  ship  clean  gone  to  wreck.  I  C?tn  't 
be  restored." 

Neddie  observed  that  his  father  had  less 
strength,  apparently,  than  early  in  the  day,  and 
that  his  face  was  extremely  pale.  Bending  over 
the  bed,  he  looked  sharply  at  his  features  for  a 
moment.  They  were  taking  on  an  expression  he 
could  not  understand,  and  which  alarmed  him. 
What  should  he  do  ?  Eager  to  hear  his  father's 
voice  again,  he  said  : 

"  Papa,  I  am  sure  it  is  not  too  late.  You 
know  who  can  heal.  It 's  as  easy  for  him  to  make 


88  THE  BUSINESS  OF  LIFE. 

the  heart  sound  as  the  body.  It  is  when  we 
feel  ourselves  wrecked,  that  He  takes  hold  to 
save  us.  And,  somehow,  papa,  He  can  't  do  much 
before  that.  I  suppose  the  reason  is,  because 
it's  only  the  lost  He  came  to  save." 

Slowly  Roger  Mason  opened  his  eyes  and 
spoke  again  :  "  Son,  the  way  begins  to  be  clear. 
I  can  almost  do  it;  but  one  needs  a  little  time 
to  think." 

"No,  papa,  no.  The  lame  man  at  the  beau- 
tiful gate  didn't  stop  to  think.  The  blind  man, 
begging  by  the  way-side,  did  n't  stop  to  think  ; 
nor  the  man  at  Bethesda ;  nor  the  man  at  Siloam. 
They  just  did  the  things.  We  must  cast  away 
our  own  righteousness,  as  we  would  an  old  coat 
we  are  never  going  to  put  on  again.  Then,  if 
we  will  let  him,  Christ  will  clothe  us  with  his 
righteousness,  and  for  His  sake,  hot  for  ours,. 
God  calls  that  clothing  ours.  Papa,  just  ask  him 
to  cover  you." 

" Neddie,  where  did  you  learn  all  that?" 


THE  B  USINESS  OF  LIFE.  89 

"It  is  all  in  the  Bible,  father.  Have  you 
forgotten  ?" 

Roger  Mason  raised  his  head  from  the  pil- 
low, leaned,  weakly,  on  his  arm,  and  said,  sol- 
emnly : 

"Neddie,  I  am  aware  that  it  is  the  first  busi- 
ness of  every  man  to  serve  Christ.  It  should  be 
the  business  of  his  life-time.  I  give  him  the  last 
inch  of  my  ill-spent,  harmful  life,  as  if  it  were  a 
favor  to  him  !  I  consent  to  stand  in  his.  right- 
eousness !  Shame  forbids  it.  I  can  not  insult 
God  with  such  a  mockery  of  obedience*" 

Then,  exhausted,  he  fell  back  upon  his  pil- 
low, with  a  look  which  again  troubled  the  boy, 
and  he  hurriedly  said  : 

"Father,  it  should  be  the  first  business,  I 
know,  but.  I  am  sure  there  is  a  parable  in  the 
Bible  which  teaches  that  men  may  enter  God's 
service  at  the  eleventh  hour,  and  that  at  the  end 
of  the  day  he  gives  the  same  wages  to  those 
who  have  worked  but  one  hour  as  to  those  who 


90  THE  BUSINESS  OF  LIFE. 

began  early  in  the  morning.  I  suppose  that 
means  that  He  gives  eternal  life  to  every  one 
of  them. 

"You  see,  papa,  the  last  men  hadn't  time  to 
do  much  work,  but  they  believed  the  householder, 
and  obeyed  him.  That  must  have  pleased  him, 
especially  as  they  did  n't  know  what  they  were 
going  to  get.  They  took  him  at  his  word.  Can"t 
you  do  that  ?" 

"I*  remember  that  parable,  Neddie,  now  you 
call  it  up,"  said  Roger,  painfully,  "but  that  way 
of  putting  it  is  too  good  to  believe." 

Neddie  was  distressed.  But,  gathering  cour- 
age, he  continued  :  "Papa,  I  Jmoiv  that  Christ 
saves  people  who  believe  in  Him,  for  he,  himself, 
said:  'God  so  loved  the  world  that  he  gave  his 
only  begotten  Son,  that  whosoever  believeth  on 
him  might  not  perish/'1 

"I  have  n't  wanted  any  of  his  help,  Neddie, 
my  life  long.  T  should  feel  mean  and  contempt- 
ible should  I  accept  it  now." 


Till-:  BUSINESS  OF  LIFE.  91 

"But,"  persisted  the  boy,  "should  we  not 
take  him  as  would  a  little  child  ?  If  I  were 
drowning  and  you  had  stretched  out  your  hand 
to  save  me,  do  you  think  1 7d  refuse  to  grasp  it, 
because  I  'd  been  a  disobedient  son  ?  Which 
would  be  the  wiser,  papa,  to  let  you  save  me,  or 
to  refuse  your  help  and  go  down  ?  Papa,  take 
his  hand." 

"  Dear  boy,"  said  Roger,  rising  again  from 
his  pillow,  and  with  more  difficulty  than  before, 
"I  know  this  is  God's  truth,  but  I  seem  to  have 
no  power  to  lay  liold  of  it.  Sin,  followed  year 
after  year,  leaves  a  man  completely  undone,  at 
the  end  of  life.  For  a  moment  I  think  I  can 
grasp  these  truths  and  keep  them,  but  the  next 
moment  they  recede  from  me  like  an  outgoing 
tide." 

Then  lying  down  again,  apparently  very  weak, 
he  closed  his  eyes.  But  soon  opening  them  he 
said,  rousing  all  his  energy  : 

"Neddie,   the    time   is    short,  but   one   thing 


92  THE  BUSINESS  OF  LIFE.    * 

must  be  said,  I  beg  of  you  never  to  drink  liquor. 
Fear  it  as  you  would  a  ferocious  beast.  Shun  it 
as  you  would  a  deadly  poison.  Say  you  will 
forever  let  it  alone.  Promise,  my  boy." 

"I  promise,  father,  indeed  I  do.  I  will  never 
touch  it.  I  could  not  drink.  I  hate  the  whole 
business." 

"May  God  help  you  to  stick  to  that,"  ejacu- 
lated the  sick  man  as  he  fell  back  upon  the 
pillow,  apparently  much  satisfied. 

For  a  few  moments  the  house  was  very  still. 
Even  the  street  was  unusually  quiet.  Neddie 
was  trying  to  decide  what  he  should  do,  if  the 
doctor  did  not  soon  come.  Presently  Roger  called 
out,  in  a  short,  quick  manner  : 

"  What  is  that  ?  Neddie,  I  hear  singing,  a  tune 
I  heard  long  ago.  Listen  !  Do  n't  you  hear  it  ?" 

Neddie  waited  a  moment:  "No,  father,  you 
must  imagine  it.  You  are  tired  and  very  weak. 
Lot  me  put  more  clothing  over  you.  It's  a 
stinging  cold  night." 


THE  BUSINESS  OF  LIFE.  93 

So  saying,  the  boy  pressed  his  own  pillow 
upon  the  stiffening  feet,  and  above  that  spread 
his  father's  faded  coat ;  then  drew  the  soiled 
covers  about  the  chilled  face,  adding  cheerfully  : 

"  There,  dear  papa,  do  n't  try  to  talk  more 
now.  We  '11  talk  in  the  morning." 

Then  turning  to  the  stove  he  raised  one  of 
the  lids  and  looked  in.  "Not  a  living  coal,"  he 
murmured,  "and  not  a  tea-cupful  of  oil  in  the 
lamp.  When  will  that  doctor  come  ?  I  must 
have  a  little  fire.  I  can  not  see  father's  face  if 
the  oil  gives  out." 

Poor  lad  !  He  did  not  know  that  the  doctor 
had  made  his  last  visit.  Upon  leaving  the  little 
hut  that  morning,  the  really  good  man  purposed 
sending  its  needy  inmates  fuel  and  provisions, 
but  other  patients,  and  the  usual  installment  of 
incidental  business,  banished  Roger  Mason  from 
his  mind  until  late  in  the  night. 

It  was  now  nearly  nine  o'clock.  The  moments 
seemed  like  hours  to  the  desolate  and  burdened 


94  THE  JUSTNESS  OF  LIFE. 

boy.  Finally  resuming  his  seat  by  the  stove, 
and  the  loneliness  becoming  intolerable,  he  burst 
into  tears,  thus  finding  relief  from  the  tension 
under  which  he  had  passed  the  day.  He  had 
thus  spent  ten  minutes,  perhaps,  when  his  father 
called,  in  a  tone  the  boy  had  not  noticed  before  : 

'•Neddie,  come  here." 

• 
As  he  sprang  to  the  bedside  Roger  took  him 

by  the  hand,  saying  :  "  My  child,  you  've  been  a, 
good  boy.  The  trial  will  soon  be  over.  But  for 
the  cruel  liquor- traffic  you  would  not  now  be  left 
alone  in  the  world.  You  have  been  bitterly 
wronged  by  it,  and  by  your  father.  But  the 
fearful  work  is  done.  There  will  be  an  awful 
account  to  be  rendered  by  somebody.  No  power 
in  earth  or  heaven  can  avert  that.  What  is  thflt, 
Neddie,  about  rendering  to  every  man  according 
to  his  works  ?" 

"  I  think  there  are  a  good  many  such  passages 
in  the  Bible,  papa,  but  I  remember  this  one  : 

"For  the  Son  of  Man  shall  come  in  the  glory 


TH /:  />'  t  'SIX MS  OF  LIFE.  \  >  •"> 

of  his  Father,  with  his  angels,  and  then  he  shall 
reward  every  man  according  to  his  works." 

"I  wish  I  had  always  known  that,  Neddie. 
I  mean  I  wish  I  had  always  thought  about  it. 
What  shall  my  reward  be  ?  That  is  a  fearful 
question.  It  seems  to  me  that  this  thing  I  am 
now  trying  to  do,  this  trying  to  save  you,  is  the 
only  right  deed  of  my  life.  It  must  be,  it  must 
be,"  he  repeated  slowly  and  impressively,  "  that 
men  who  sell  liquor  do  n't  know  that  Christ  said 
that." 

"Papa,"  interrupted  Neddie,  for  the  boy  was 
comforted  even  by  the  sound  of  his  father's 
voice.  "  I  think  of  another  verse,  in  the  very  last 
chapter  of  the  Book,  where  Christ  says  : 

"Behold,  I  come  quickly,  and  my  reward  is 
with  me  to  give  every  man  according  as  his 
work  shall  be." 

"  Oh,  Neddie,  if  I  could  only  repent.  I  feel 
that  I  owe  it  to  him  to  repent,  but  my  heart  is 
hard.  You  see,"  he  continued,  feebly,  "I  have 


9  6  THE  K  US f NESS  OF  L  TFE. 

resisted    him    all    my   life,     But    now,  my   son, 
promise  me  once  more  that  you  will  never  drink." 

"I  will  never   drink,  father.     When   mother 
died,  she  committed   me  to  the  Lord's  keeping. 
"I  believe  he  will  help  rne  fulfill  the  promise." 

At  that  moment  there  fell  upon  the  ears  of 
both  unmistakable  sounds  of  singing. 

"  There !"  exclaimed  Roger  Mason,  his 
wretched  face  lighting  up,  so  that  Neddie  saw 
the  change,  even  by  the  dim  lamp-light,  "that 
is  what  I  heard.  Now  the  sounds  are  nearer. 
See  what  they  mean,  my  son." 

Neddie  opened  the  door  a  little  way  and  list- 
ened. In  the  cheerful  strains  which  reached  his 
ear  he  recognized  the  words  :  "0  Lamb  of  God, 
I  come,  I  come."  In  that  quarter  of  the  city, 
the  melody  of  Gospel  hymns  was  an  unaccus- 
tomed sound,  but  he  understood  its  meaning,  and 
returning  to  the  bedside,  said  : 

"  Father,  I  think  some  Christians  are  holding 
a  prayer-meeting  at  Mrs.  Castle's." 


THE  B  USINESS  OF  LIFE.  0  7 

<fc  Go  instantly,  dear  boy,  and  ask  them  to 
come  here.  Do  n't  wait.  Have  them  come 
quickly." 

Darting  from  the  door,  bareheaded,  Neddie 
stood  a  moment  later  in  the  presence  of  ten  or  a 
dozen  persons,  belonging  to  the  neighborhood, 
who  had  gathered  at  Mrs.  Castle's  to  attend  a 
Bible  reading.  He  found  the  door  slightly  open. 
This  accounted  for  the  hearing  the  notes  of  the 
last  hymn  distinctly,  by  his  father  and  himself. 
Aside  from  a  young  man  who  acted  as  leader  of 
the  meeting,  and  his  sister,  both  of  whom  were 
faithful  members  of  one  of  the  up-town  Churches, 
the  company  was  made  up  of  men  and  women 
familiar  with  every  degree  of  want  and  with 
almost  every  phase  of  sin. 

The  services  were  about  to  close.  The  boy 
stopped  at  the  door  an  instant,  glanced  around, 
then  crossed  the  room  to  the  young  man  conduct- 
ing the  exercises,  and  asked,  his  voice  and  man- 
ner giving  evidence  of  haste  and  deep  trouble : 


98  THE  BUSINESS  OF  LIFE. 

"  Will  you  please  come  to  my  father,  sir  ? 
He  is  very  ill.  He  wants  you." 

"  Yes,  my  boy.     Where  does  he  live  ?" 

"  In  the  second  house  down  the  street,  on 
this  side." 

"Wait;  we  will  go  with  you." 

Then  hastily  bidding  the  small  audience  good- 
night, John  Sargent  turned  to  his  sister,  and 
said  :  "Katie,  you  had  better  go  with  me.  You 
may  be  wanted."  Then  laying  his  arm  over  the 
shoulders  of  the  trembling  boy,  he  directed,  in  a 
kindly  tone : 

"  Now  take  us  to  your  home.'* 

Upon  entering  the  house,  the  strangers  were 
shocked  by  the  coldness,  darkness,  and  destitu- 
tion of  the  place.  But  going  directly  to  the  bed- 
sjde,  Mr.  Sargent  inquired  :  "My  dear  sir,  what 
can  I  do  for  you  ?  Mention  any  thing  you  want 
done." 

The  sincere  words  and  the  tone  of  sympathy 
went  straight  to  that  heart,  so  near  its  final 


THE  BUSINESS  OF  LIFE.  99 

beating.  Slowly  Roger  opened  his  eyes,  and  for 
a  moment  searched  the  compassionate  face  bent 
above  them,  then  closed  them  again.  Apparently 
the  sufferer  was  satisfied.  Yet  his  lips  tried  to 
utter  words.  Bending  closer,  the  friend  dis- 
tinctly heard  : 

"My  boy — be  kind  to  him — keep  him  from 
drinking." 

"I  will  be  kind  to  him,  sir.  I  assure  you  I 
will ;  but  do  speak  of  yourself.  What  can  I  do 
for  you  ?  I  see  you  need  fire,  and  you  need  a 
physician.  I  will  send  for  one." 

There  was  no  answer,  from  lips,  or  eyes. 
The  breath  of  Roger  Mason,  once  a  youth  of  the 
fairest  promise,  but  now  one  ruined  sheaf  of  the 
horrible  harvest  of  the  liquor-traffic,  had  returned 
to  God  who  gave  it. 

A  little  before  midnight,  John  and  Katie 
Sargent  stepped  out  of  the  miserable  place  into 
the  keen,  frosty  air.  and  began  climbing  the 
bluff,  by  a  rough  street  leading  toward  their  home 


100  THE  BUSINESS  OF  LTFE. 

in  a  distant  part  of  the  city.  By  the  young 
man's  side  walked  Neddie  Mason.  Few  words 
were  spoken  on  the  way.  Several  times,  how- 
ever, Mr.  Sargent  laid  his  hand  gently  on  the 
boy's  shoulder,  as  if  to  remind  him  that  he  had 
a  friend  near.  It  was  saying  to  him  :  "  I  am 
thinking  of  you." 

That  was  a  warm,  bright  sitting-room  into 
which  the  shivering  lad  was  introduced,  at  the 
end  of  the  walk-j>  and  that  was  a  tempting 
supper  which  Miss  Sargent  brought  him  on  a 
tray,  as  soon  as  she  had  laid  aside  her  things. 
An  hour  later,  he  was  lying  in  a  clean,  warm 
bed,  both  the  past,  with  its  sorrow  and  want, 
and  the  present,  with  its  desolation,  utterly 
forgotten. 

"Was  it  a  trustful  death,  do  you  think?" 
asked  Miss  Sargent,  of  her  brother,  after  she  had 
bidden  Neddie  good-night,  in  his  room. 

"Doubtful,  Kate.  The  victims  of  strong 
drink  are  not  apt  to  die  that  way,  and  I  judge 


THE  B  US  I  NESS  OF  L IFE.  101 

from  the  circumstances,  and  from  what  the  boy 
says,  that  the  man  was  extremely  intemperate." 

When  Neddie  Mason  wakened  the  next 
morning,  the  bright  Winter's  sun  was  falling 
through  the  blinds  in  golden  bars,  all  over  the 
bed  and  on  the  wall  at  his  side.  He  started  up, 
looked  around  the  comfortable  room,  and  asked 
himself:  "Where  am  I?" 

Instantly,  then,  came  the  events  of  the  past 
night  into  his  mind.  The  scenes  closed  with  a 
vision  of  his  father  lying  cold  and  still  in  their 
miserable  home.  Then  he  felt  that  he  had  been 
unkind  and  undutiful  to  leave  him  there,  and 
himself  come  away  to  such  comfort  and  cheer. 
Springing  from  the  bed,  he  washed  and  dressed 
quickly,  and  appeared  in  the  sitting-room  just  as 
the  family  were  reading  the  Bible  at  morning 
worship. 

Miss  Sargent  gave  him  a  Bible  open  at  the 
place,  cfiyinor :  "You  needn't  try  to  read  aloud 
ilii.s  time." 


102  THE  BUSINESS  OF  LIFE. 

The  words  "  this  time,"  caught  his  attention, 
and  he  mentally  asked,  "  Am  I  to  be  here  again  ?" 

When  the  little  service  ended,  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Sargent  went  to  the  lad,  took  him  by  the  hand 
kindly,  and  said  :  "  We  are  glad  you  are  here. 
We  shall  care  for  you  until  you  know  what  you 
will  do.  So  do  not  worry.  After  breakfast  we 
shall  ride  down  into  the  city  to  see  your  father, 
and  you  shall  go  with  us." 

Then  John  stepped  up  to  him,  laid  his  hand 
on  his  shoulder,  as  he  did  during  the  midnight 
walk,  and  started  for  the  breakfast-room,  but 
spoke  not  a  word.  It  was  but  a  little  act,  yet 
more  effective  than  a  whole  chapter  on  friend- 
ship. Neddie  felt  the  touch  of  the  hand,  in  his 
very  heart. 

We  draw  a  curtain  between  the  reader  and 
the  bereaved  boy,  beside  his  dead  father,  in  that 
dreary  hut,  an  hour  and  a  half  later.  Such 
times  are  sacred,  and  we  must  consider,  with 
delicate  respect,  the  feelings  of  even  a  boy,  under 


THE  BUSINESS  OF  LIFE.  103 

such  circumstances ;  no  more  presuming  to  in- 
trude, because  the  sufferer  is  but  a  child,  than 
we  would  were  he  a  man. 

Neddie's  new  friends  arranged  for  holding 
the  last  rites  over  Roger  Mason,  in  the  house 
where  he  died,  and  brought  their  own  pastor  to 
impress  the  lesson  of  the  man's  life  and  death 
upon  his  neighbors,  some  of  whom  were  facing 
the  same  sure  ruin. 

When  the  ceremony  was  over,  taking  the 
minister  and  the  orphan  boy  in  their  own  car- 
riage, the  family  followed  Roger  to  his  rest,  in 
Myrtle  Grove  Cemetery,  and  then  drove  home, 
their  thoughts  busy  with  the  future  of  the  youth, 
so  suddenly  made  a  part  of  their  household. 

It  is  seven  years  since  that  day.  Neddie 
Mason  is  now  twenty-three.  He  has  visited  the 
old  house  on  the  mountain  side;  has  slept  in 
the  room  against  whose  window-panes  the  wind 
sent  the  rain,  and  listened  to  its  moaning  among 
the  cedars.  For  himself,  he  has  never  forgotten 


104 


THE  BUSINESS  OF  LIFE. 


that  the  chief  business  of  life  is  to  understand 
the  Lord  Christ.  And  to-day  his  chosen  work 
in  the  world  is,  the  leading  other  men  to  act 
from  that  conviction. 


IV. 


yoops 


-N-Y  washtubs  needing  hoops  and  han- 
dles ?    Hoops  and  handles.    H-o-o-p-s 
and    handles.     W-a-s-h-tubs    requir- 
ing hoops  ?" 

On  a  keen  December  morning  in  1881, 
the  writer  sat  in  a  carriage  before  a  drug- 
store, in  a  thickly  populated  street  in  the 
city  of  Cleveland,  waiting  for  a  friend,  who 
had  CM  lied  for  a  prescription  which  demanded 
some  minutes  for  its  preparation,  when  suddenly 
the  above  questions  and  announcements  came 
ringing  through  the  crisp,  frosty  air  from  a  short 
distance  behind  the  vehicle. 

105 


106  HOOPS  AND  HANDLES. 

There  have  been  times  when  you  have  heard, 
it  may  have  been  on  the  street,  or  in  a  railway- 
car,  or  in  -some  crowded  drawing-room,  a  voice 
of  such  fine  and  peculiar  quality,  as  to  make  you 
look  around  to  catch  a  glimpse  of  its  possessor. 
It  seemed  to  you  that  such  a  voice  must  be  ac- 
companied by  an  attractive  face  and  a  pure  char- 
acter. Inherently  it  was  different  from  the 
majority  of  voices. 

I  remember  hearing  a  friend,  who  had  spent 
several  years  in  the  British  Islands,  say,  that  on 
one  occasion,  when  attending  a  reception  at  which 
a  number  of  titled  people  were  present,  her  at- 
tention was  called  to  a  conversation  going  on 
near  her,  by  the  singularly  clear,  rich  voice  of 
one  of  the  parties  taking  part  in  it.  Forgetting 
the  proprieties  of  the  place^  for  an  instant,  she 
turned  to  glance  at  the  speaker,  who  proved  to 
be  a  lady  of  charming  address,  earnestly  engaged 
in  discussing  the  wrongs  of  the  Irish  nation  with 
a  member  of  Parliament. 


HO  OPS  AND  HANDLES.  107 

Some  such  voice  it  was,  I  imagine,  whose 
tones  fell  upon  my  ear,  that  stinging  Winter 
morning.  Turning  to  the  little  oblong  window  in 
the  back  curtain  of  the  carriage,  I  glanced  along 
both  sides  of  the  street,  expecting  to  see  its  owner 
once  more  calling  out,  in  tones  which  could  be 
heard  all  through  the  neighborhood  : 

"  Hoops  and  h-a-n-d-1-e-s  for  WAsntubs.  Hoops. 
Hoops  and  handles.  A-n-y  washtubs  to  be 
repaired  ?" 

But  the  vender  of  the  articles  was  nowhere 
to  be  seen.  He  had  darted  down  a  narrow  pas- 
s;ige  between  two  houses  just  a  moment  before, 
,-ind  was  now  bestowing  a  vigorous  rap-rap  on  the 
rear  door  of  one  of  them. 

For  years  T  had  been  familiar  with  the  street 
proclamations  which  harry  the  peace  of  large 
cities.  I  could  easily  distinguish  the  prolonged 
nasal  cry  of  the  unsavory  fishmonger,  when 
several  blocks  distant ;  and  not  less  definitely 
the  different  tones  of  the  p-a-p-e-r  r-a-g-s,  the 


108  HOOPS  AND  HANDLES. 

s-o-a-p  g-r-e-a-s-e,  and  Ihe  o-l-d  i-r-o-n  men  whose 
rasping  clamor  only  the  end  of  time  will  silence. 
And  for  three  months  that  Fall,  I  had  been  elec- 
trified, every  few  days,  by  the  indescribable  ac- 
cents of  a  little  black-whiskered  man,  with  small 
round  head  and  midnight  eyes,  who  piped  in 
front  of  my  friend's  dwelling  :  "  S-w-e-e-t  c-i-d-e-r 
and  s-o-u-r  vin-e-gar."  But  hoops  and  handles 
for  washtubs,  w^ere  articles  I  had  never,  before, 
seen  retailed  along  the  streets. 

All  the  tubs  across  the  way  must  have  been 
in  sound  condition,  for  in  a  short  time  the  man 
again  appeared  proclaiming  in  round,  hearty  tones  : 

"Hoops  and  handles  for  washtubs!  Any 
w-a-s-h-tubs  to  be  repaired  ?  Hoops  and  handles  !" 

Then  crossing  the  street,  just  behind  the  car- 
riage, he  stepped  briskly  up  to  the  door  of  the 
drug-store,  opened  it,  looked  in,  and  closed  it 
again,  saying:  "Oh,  only  a  drug-store." 

Descending  again  to  the  pavement,  he  stood 
an  instant,  as  if  determining  where  next  to  go. 


HOOPS  A ND  HA  XDLES.  1 09 

This  gave  me  an  opportunity  to  obtain  a  full  view 
of  his  face. 

"Is  it  possible!"  I  exclaimed  mentally. 
"  What  extraordinary  change  of  fortune  has  set 
James  Marshall,  at  such  employment  ?  Surely 
it  is  he." 

A  strong  impulse  to  speak  to  the  vigorous- 
looking,  wide-awake  young  man,  was  restrained 
by  the  quick  reflection,  that  under  the  circum- 
stances, it  might  be  the  last  thing  he  would  wish 
me  to  do. 

I  noticed  that  the  attire  of  my  old-time  ac- 
quaintance did  not  indicate  poverty.  He  was 
most  comfortably  clad  for  the  season.  This 
rendered  his  occupation  all  the  more  a  mystery. 
Exercise  had  put  a  rich  color  into  his  cheeks. 
His  step  was  as  light  as  a  lad's.  In  one  hand  he 
carried  a  bundle  of  iron  hooping,  cut  in  lengths 
to  fit  washtubs  of  all  sizes.  In  the  other  was  a 
package  of  handles  and  a  slender  iron  mallet  for 
driving  the  hoops. 


110  HOOPS  AND  HANDLES 

To  an  artist  the  young  man  as  he  then  stood, 
would  have  offered  a  splendid  subject  for  a  pic- 
ture. To  me  the  scene  was  inexplicable.  Why 
should  a  young  man  of  twenty-seven,  possibly, 
a  graduate  of  one  of  our  first  colleges,  with  every 
pulse  beating  with  health,  as  his  appearance  tes- 
tified, be  driven  to  so  humble  and  precarious  a 
pursuit  as  the  rejuvenation  of  old  washtubs  ? 
That  he  was  forced  into  it  through  necessity 
was  beyond  a  doubt. 

I  had  little  time  to  study  him,  for,  setting 
out  again,  he  was  the  next  moment  ringing  at  a 
neighboring  door  for  work.  But  here  the  wash- 
tubs  were  sound  and  he  went  on.  Five  or  six 
doors  were  visited  with  the  same  result,  the 
strong  west  wind  bringing  back  to  my  ears  the 
resonant,  cheerful  proclamation  : 

"  Hoops  and  handles  for  washtubs !  Any 
washtubs  n-e-e-d-i-n-g  r-e-p-a-i-r-s  ?  Hoops.  Han- 
dles." 

Mrs.  Clark  now  returned  to  her  carriage,  and 


HOOPS  AND  HANDLES.  1 1 1 

soon  we  were  driving  rapidly  toward  her  hus- 
band's office.  I  made  no  mention  of  the  incident 
I  had  just  witnessed,  and  in  which  I  was  still  too 
much  absorbed  to  take  any  interest  in  the  lively 
woman's  talk. 

In  a  New  England  town,  widely  known  for 
its  educational  advantages,  I  had  several  years 
before  made  the  acquaintance  of  young  Marshall. 
From  a  fire-side  among  the  New  Hampshire  hills, 
he  had  come  into  a  family,  next  door  to  us,  to 
board  during  his  course  of  study.  Here  he 
spent  four  years,  impressing  himself  upon  every 
acquaintance  as  a  person  of  rare  worth  and 
promise. 

He  was  one  of  that  class  of  young  men,  of 
whom  there  are  too  few  in  every  community, 
who  demand  little  aid  from  others,  because  self- 
reliant  and  self-helpful  themselves,  to  the  last 
degree.  Of  his  history,  since  his  college  days, 
I  had  known  little,  except  that  a  year  or  two 
after  he  had  secured  his  degree,  he  had  invited 


1 1 2  HOOPS  AND  HANDLES. 

a  sensible  and  handsome  young  woman,  to  share 
life  and  fortune  with  him  in  the  West. 

Turning  the  circumstances  over  in  my  mind, 
as  we  whirled  along,  and  feeling  confident  that 
not  for  mere  pastime  had  the  man  taken  up  the 
morning's  occupation,  in  such  a  city,  I  resolved 
to  know  more  about  him.  Arrived  at  Mr.  Clark's 
office,  I  quietly  consulted  the  city  directory,  but 
in  the  considerable  list  of  "  Marshalls,"  appeared 
nearly  every  first  name  except  "James."  Then 
turning  to  Mr.  Clark,  who  was  my  relative,  I  said  : 

"Edward,  eight  or  ten  years  ago  I  made  the 
acquaintance  of  an  estimable  and  very  capable 
young  man,  during  his  college  course  in  our  town, 
who  afterwards  married  and  fixed  his  residence 
in  your  city.  I  wonder  if  you  have  any  knowl- 
edge of  him." 

"What's  his  name?" 

"James  Marshall." 

"Do  I  know  him?  It  strikes  me  I  do,  and 
he 's  one  of  the  finest  fellows  living.  He  is  one 


HOOPS  AXf>  IIAXDLFS.  113 

of  the  few  men  who  have  an  enthusiasm  for 
right-doing.  Nothing  daunts  him.  And  nothing 
suits  him  better  than  a  sharp  tussle  with  ill-luck. 
It  brings  out  the  hero  in  him.  His  courage  is 
like  the  ocean — exhaustless." 

I  thought  I  had  witnessed  a  display  of  his 
courage  that  morning,  and  readily  believed  Mr. 
Clark.  "Do  you  know  where  he  is  now,  and 
what  he  is  doing?"  I  inquired. 

"  Really,  I  can  't  tell,  I  am  sorry  to  say.  For 
some  time  he  held  the  position  of  paying  teller 
in  the  Fourth  National  Bank,  and  was  invaluable 
in  his  position  ;  but  he  was  removed,  I  have  been 
told,  not  long  ago,  to  make  room  for  a  relative 
of  the  president.  His  wife,  as  I  have  since 
learned,  was  alarmingly  ill  at  the  time,  and  for 
weeks  he  was  compelled  to  abandon- all  attempts 
at  business  and^  give  to  her  his  constant  personal 
attention.  And  I  may  as  well  add  that  besides 
being  a  brave  fellow  he  is  ' possessed  and  pos- 
sessed' of  a  tender  spirit." 


114  HOOPS  AND  HANDLES. 

"  Qualities  that  can  not  be  gotten  for  gold  ; 
neither  shall  silver  be  weighed  for  the  price 
thereof/'  quietly  quoted  Mrs.  Clark. 

"  In  what  part  of  the  city  does  this  example 
of  true  manliness  live  ?"  I  asked,  determined  not 
to  relinquish  my  purpose. 

"  I  'm  grieved  to  say,  I  do  n't  know.  During 
Marshall's  term  in  the  bank,  the  couple  occupied 
a  genteel  little  house  on  Durand  Street,  and  were 
patterns  of  economy  and  matrimonial  content- 
ment, as  well  as  of  ready  helpfulness  in  various 
deserving  affairs. 

"Since  then  I  have  rather  lost  sight  of  them. 
The  times  have  been  hard,  and  I  've  been  com- 
pelled to  look  sharply  after  my  own  matters,  and 
thus  have  rather  neglected  the  good  fellow.  But 
now  you  speak  of  him,  I  'm  moved  to  hunt  him 
up,  if  he  is  in  the  city." 

Just  then  there  shot  through  my  mind  cer- 
tain words  in  a  most  precious  book — "Look  not 
every  man  on  his  own  things,  but  every  man 


HOOPS  AND  HA  NDLES.  1  1  -r> 

also  on  the  things  of  others,"  and  I  repeated 
them  aloud,  saying  pleasantly, 

"  The  quaint  book  contains  something  exactly 
apropos  for  every  time  and  circumstance  of  life, 
you  see." 

''I'll  find  Marshall  if  I  can,"  he  replied, 
thoughtfully.  "It  is  just  possible  he  needs  a 
friend.  I'm  glad  you've  called  him  up."  So 
saying  he  turned  to  his  duties  and  we  drove 
home. 

The  day  our  young  New  Englander  was  occu- 
pied as  a  pedestrian  tinker  of  washtubs  was  one 
of  the  severest  of  that  long  cold  winter.  Out 
of  doors  there  was  comfort  only  in  vigorous 
exercise,  or  under  thick  warm  •  wraps.  High 
noon  had  come,  when,  with  face  aglow,  from 
three  and  a  half  hours  of  rapid  walking,  he  en- 
tered the  sunny  little  room  where  sat  his  young 
wife  pillowed  in  a  large  easy-chair,  and  greeted 
her  tenderly. 

Twice   since   Mr.  Clark   knew   him   in  their 


116  HO  OPS  A  ND  HANDLES. 

pretty  home  on  Duraud  Street,  had  the  husband 
been  compelled  to  remove  his  young  wife  to 
cheaper,  though  not  less  comfortable  lodgings. 
The  last  change  left  them  at  No.  25  Norton 
Street,  a  new  avenue  laid  out  in  a  suburb  of  the 
city.  The  house,  built  in  one  of  the  pretty 
styles  now  so  common,  was  tastefully  fitted  up. 
There  were  kind  neighbors  near,  and  all  around 
was  pure  air. 

After  his  tramp,  James  found  himself  not  a 
little  weary  in  body,  but  in  nowise  discouraged. 
Just  when  the  clouds  would  part,  it  was  denied 
him  to  see.  That  the  light  would  finally  break 
through  them,  he  questioned  not.  The  months 
spent  in  fostering  the  life  so  dear  to  him  had 
been  given  to  duty.  He  would  not,  then,  allow 
himself  to  be  distressed  as  to  the  outcome  of 
his  present  troubles.  He  firmly  believed  that 
the  man  who  fears  God  and  departs  from  evil. 
has  nothing  else  to  fear.  So,  taking  his  wife's 
hand,  he  said  in  his  usual  bright  manner : 


HOOPS  A  M>  HA  y/tLKS.  \  1 


"Carrie,  you  are  a  great  success  at  pleasure- 
giving.  Ten  minutes  spent  with  you  in  this 
little  home,  is  ample  reward  for  a  whole  day's 
toil.  It  makes  one  joyful  while  at  work.  But 
now  let  me  take  you  out  to  dinner." 

"  Then  you  must  tell  me  what  success  you 
have  had.  You  have  said  not  a  word  about  your 
morning's  experiment.  I  imagine  you  found  few 
disabled  wash  tubs." 

"  Carrie,  if  I  have  spent  the  morning  accord- 
ing to  the  purpose  of  our  Heavenly  Father,  I've 
had  success.  No  logic  can  get  around  that, 
even  if  I  have  failed  to  make  a  cent  of  money. 
But  let  us  eat  dinner.  I  can  think  of  no  pleas- 
anter  duty  just  now  for  a  hungry  man  to  per- 
form." Her  husband  well  knew  that  should  he 
recite  some  of  the  incidents  of  the  forenoon,  he 
would  rob  his  wife  of  all  appetite,  "a  species 
of  theft,"  he  affirmed,  "for  which  the  statutes 
provide  no  penalty." 

At  table  both  were  cheerful  and  chatty  not- 


3  18  HOOPS  AND  HANDLES. 

withstanding  the  grim  fact  that  the  house  con- 
tained scarce  food  enough  for  another  meal,  frugal 
even  as  the  present  one. 

The  simple  repast  over,  James  moved  his  wife 
back  into  the  brightest  room  in  the  house,  where 
he  arranged  every  thing  for  her  comfort,  while  he 
should  be  absent  for  the  remainder  of  the  day. 

As  he  turned  to  go  out,  Mrs.  Marshall,  put- 
ting her  hand  in  her  husband's,  entreated  :  "  My 
dear,  tell  me  the  result  of  your  interview  with 
Mr.  McClintock.  Did  he  give  you  the  least  en- 
couragement? Or  was  it  one  more  door  closed 
just  before  you  reached  it  ?  How  prompt  you 
have  been  to  embrace  every  opportunity  which 
offered  !  What  is  the  prospect  ?" 

"  The  prospect  is  certainly  fair,  Carrie,  from 
the  fact  that  we  are  daily  in  the  plans  and 
thought  of  God.  We  may  rest  upon  his  abso- 
lute faithfulness,  while  from  Mr.  McClintock  we 
h&ve  nothing  to  hope.  But  remember  that  we 
ar  *  not  worse  oif  than  before  I  saw  him." 


HOOPS  AXD  HANDLES.  1 1  9 

Looking  into  her  husband's  face,  she  said, 
unable  to  keep  back  the  tears :  "  To-morrow, 
James,  we  shall  be  in  absolute  want." 

"  Then,  that  will  be  our  time  for  testing  His 
faithfulness,  Carrie.  But  our  strait  is  not  so 
great  as  it  might  be.  I  have  this  morning  earned 
sufficient  to  shut  the  door  against  want  for  a 
week.  Here  and  there  I  .found  a  dilapidated 
washtub  and  left  it  as  good  as  new.  Now  bear 
in  mind  that  I  am  young  and  very  strong.  You 
shall  never  lack  bread,  if  I  can  leave  your  bed- 
side to  work.  When  I  can't  do  one  thing,  I  will 
do  another. 

"Now  let  me  relate  a  chapter  of  history, 
which  will  take  the  edge  off  these  keen  feelings." 
Then  taking  her  hand  between  his  strong  palms, 
he  rehearsed,  in  a  manner  inimitably  ludicrous, 
his  attempts  at  renewing  the  usefulness  of  aged 
wash  tubs. 

"How  humiliating  must  have  been  that  sort 
of  work  !"  said  Carrie,  as  he  concluded. 


120  HOOPS  AND  HANDLES. 

"No.  Not  so,"  replied  the  young  man,  very 
decidedly.  "My  sensible  mother — I  wish  she 
were  alive — taught  me  that  every  useful  work 
may  be  made  a  noble  one  by  putting  right  mo- 
tives into  it.  I  became,  for  the  day  a  doctor 
of  washtubs  that  I  might  save  a  little  woman 
from  need.  That  was  a  right  thing  to  do.  I 
did  my  work  as  conscientiously  MS  if  I  had  been 
dressing  wounded  human  bodies,  and  I'm  not 
ashamed  of  it. 

"Besides,  I  learned  some  useful  lessons  this 
morning.  I  never  so  fully  realized  how  much 
kind,  true  feeling  there  is  in  the  hearts  of  the 
humbler  class  of  people.  I  really  believe  the 
house-wives  took  me  to  be  an  impecunious 
nobleman,  who  had  been  reduced  to  such 
labor  by  no  fault  of  his  own.  Some  of  them 
appeared  really  sorry  their  washtubs  were 
sound." 

"Are  you  not  a  nobleman?  Is  it  your  fault 
that  your  total  stock  in  trade  is  a  few  hoops  and 


HOOPS  A  XI >  HA NDLES.  1  21 

handles  for  wash  tubs  ?  Not  a  very  satisfactory 
fortune  to  be  sure,  but — " 

"You  are  my  fortune,  Carrie,  and  happily 
not  yet  lost.  But  life  is  an  intensely  real  thing, 
and  without  bread  we  can  not  live.  So,  wish 
me  good  luck,  and  I  '11  devote  the  afternoon  to 
the  welfare  of  wash  tubs." 

"Success  to  you,  James.  But  I  wish  you 
were  not  compelled  to  do  it.  Should  you  meet 
any  of  your  friends  it  would  be  very  embar- 
rassing." 

"Not  a  bit,  Carrie.  There  is  cause  for  shame 
only  in  dishonest  doing.  But  aside  from  all  such 
considerations,  I  believe  that  God  opens  for  me, 
for  to-day,  this  narrow  door,  every  other  being 
shut,  and  that  entering  it  I  shall  be  blest.  Now 
good-bye.  You  will  see  me  again  about  dark." 

Months  of  wearying  illness  had  robbed  Carrie 
Marshall's  nerves  of  their  strength,  else  she 
could  have  faced  these  days  of  trial  as  heroically 
as  did  her  husband.  And,  indeed,  latterly  she 


1  '2'2  HOOPS  AND  HANDLES. 

had  spent  some  time  each  day  reviewing  studies 
she  had  taught  before  her  marriage,  with  the  pur- 
pose in  view,  of  herself  doing  something  toward 
retrieving  their  circumstances.  For  why  a  wife 
should  not,  when  circumstances  require  it,  assist 
in  gaining  the  mutual  livelihood,  was  a  problem 
she  had  never  been  able  to  solve. 

Her  books  had  just  been  laid  aside  that  cold 
December  afternoon,  when  her  young  servant  ad- 
mitted to  the  parlor,  a  lady  personally  unknown 
to  her,  but  who  quickly  informed  her,  that  she 
had  known  Mr.  Marshall  well,  in  his  college 
days,  and  being  in  the  city  for  the  Winter,  had 
taken  great  pleasure  in  finding  him  out.  The 
lady's  manner  was  so  sincere  and  Jkindly,  that 
the  young  wife  soon  found  herself  wholly  at 
ease  with  her. 

The  call  passed  into  a  long  interview,  and 
before  the  visitor  had  departed,  it  was  not  only 
toward  dark,  but  she  had  learned  the  reason  for 
the  exceptional  labor  in  which  she  had  seen 


HOOPS  AND  HANDLES.  123 

James    Marshall   engaged    that  morning,  though 
she  was  careful  not  to  give  the  wife  a  hint  that 

she  had  made  the  discovery. 

• 

In  her  mind,  as  she  left  the  little  cottage 
and  sped  through  the  bitter  cold  toward  her 
abode,  there  were  grave  doubts,  if,  in  the  un- 
promising state  of  the  wife's  health,  the  close- 
ness of  the  times,  and  the  dearth  of  situations, 
such  as  Mr.  Marshall  deserved  and  could  fill, 
the  young  couple  could  pass  the  Winter  in  a 
condition  above  want. 

At  the  same  time  the  spirit  of  self-help- 
fulness, so  manifest  in  both,  awakened  her  ad- 
miration, and  she  determined  to  befriend  them. 
Possibly  the  biting  evening  air  promoted  rapid 
thinking  as  well  as  swift  walking,  for  by  the 
time  she  had  reached  her  glowing  fireside,  her 
little  plan  was  laid. 

A  letter,  received  that  morning  from  her  only 
brother,  the  head  of  a  large  commercial  house  in 
M ,  on  the  Mississippi  River,  mentioned  the 


124  HOOPS  AND  HAXDLES. 

death  of  a  trusted  employee  of  the  firm,  who 
was  an  esteemed  friend  of  her  own.  "  Where  in 
this  world  can  I  find  another  like  him  ?"  was  the 
question  ending  her  brother's  account  of  his  loss. 

"I  can  tell  him,'1  said  the  woman  to  herself, 
as  she  took  up  her  pen  that  evening,  for  a  reply. 

Four  days  afterwards,  there  carne  from  the 
western  bank  of  the  Father  of  Waters,  this 
telegram  : 

"  Dear  Mary, — 1  have  sent  for  Marshall.  Please  make 
his  wife  comfortable  until  she  has  strengt^to  come  where 
the  snows  are  deeper.  YOUR  BROTHER." 

At  that  very  hour  the  young  couple,  a  chap- 
ter of  whose  lives  I  have  here  transcribed,  were 
seated  in  their  neat  home,  bending  over  a  dis- 
patch worded  in  this  wise  : 

", FAMES  F.  MARSHALL: 

"  Dear  Sir, — Can  you  accept,  immediately,  the  position 
of  first  cashier  in  our  establishment?  Salary,  $2,000.  A 
merry  Christinas  to  yourself  and  wife.  L.  D.  KING." 


HOOPS  AND  HANDLES.  1 25 

It  was  the  evening  before  Christmas.  How 
that  husband  and  wife  felt,  with  all  they  thought 
and  said,  as  they  read  this  message,  again  and 
again,  I  leave  the  reader  to  imagine.  But  one 
who  dropped  in  soon  after,  heard  Mrs.  Marshall 
say,  while  making  great  effort  to  appear  brave  : 
"  Must  you  go  to-morrow,  James  ?" 
"No.  We  shall  spend  Christmas  together. 
But  going  will  be  the  next  step,  after  I  have 
arranged  for  your  comfort  until  you  gain  strength 
for  the  journey.  Now  let  us  enjoy  the  Christ- 
inas day." 


V. 


GIVING     SHINES. 


ONE  evening  in  June,  1886,  the  writer 
was  passsing  an  hour  or  two  at  the 
home  of  a  very    dear  friend  at   San 
Francisco.     There  had  occurred,  but  a  few 
I    nights  before,  a  very  destructive  conflagra- 
tion, known  as  "the  Brannan   Street  fire." 
By  the  terrible  calamity  about  eight  hundred 
of  the   citizens    were   rendered    absolutely 
homeless.     And  almost  without  exception, 
the  sufferers  belonged  to  the  abjectly  poor  class, 

120 


ZEN  AS  PRICE.  127 

In  relieving  their  wants,  and  refitting  new  homes 
for  them,  my  friend  had  been  untiring,  from  the 
first.  Naturally,  as  we  sat  together  in  the  library, 
after  the  six  o'clock  dinner,  the  conversation 
turned  upon  the  unfortunate  event,  and  from 
that,  to  the  biting  neects  of  the  very  poor  in  great 
cities  ;  and  finally,  to  particular  incidents  con- 
nected with  this  class  in  San  Francisco,  to  and 
fro  among  whom,  Mrs.  C had  gone,  a  min- 
ister of  blessing  for  many  years. 

These  incidents  recalled  to  her  mind  the  he- 
roic struggles  of  one  Zenas  Price,  a  brave-spirited 
boot-black,  whose  life  of  gaunt  want  closed  when 
he  was  about  sixteen  years  of  age.  The  follow- 
ing is  the  pathetic  story  she  told,  as  nearly  as  I 
am  able  to  reproduce  it. 

In  an  obscure,  tumble-down  tenement  of  the 
Barbary  Coast — a  locality  in  San  Francisco,  fa- 
mous for  the  criminal  character  of  its  inhabit- 
ants, and  for  the  danger  to  life  and  property  in 
the  precinct — hemmed  in  by  the  four  dingy  walls 


128  ZEN  AS  PRICE. 

of  a  little  room,  a  young  boy  lay  dying.  He 
was  old,  however,  in  disappointment  and  sorrow. 
Utter  poverty  had  been  his  portion  from  his 
birth.  But  his  was  a  nature  in  which  hope  and 
aspiration  awakened  longings  and  strivings  to 
improve  his  condition.  Yet  all  ended  but  in 
premature  despair. 

I  began  to  feel  an  interest  in  this  boy  some 
three  years  ago.  One  day  I  was  attending  the 
funeral  of  his  little  sister,  Annie,  herself  a  re- 
markable little  waif.  I  might  tell  you  something 
about  her  before  I  go  on  with  Zenas. 

I  well  remember  the  morning  when  I  first 
found  her  sitting  alone  on  the  curbstone,  in  a 
narro\v,  dusky  alley.  She  was  scantily  clothed, 
and  looked  bereft  and  lonely.  Every  thing  about 
her  seemed  to  say  : 

"  This  world  is  a  sorry  place  for  a  little  thing 
like  me." 

A  slight  effort  on  my  part  secured  her  at- 
tendance at  one  of  our  Golden  Gate  kinder- 


ZEN  AS  PRICE.  129 

gartens,  then  being  conducted  some  ten  blocks 
from  her  home.  Under  its  genial  and  softening 
influences,  her  poor,  cramped  life  broke  its  bounds 
and  expanded  wonderfully.  The  place,  with  its 
lively  music,  its  varied  and  beautiful  exercises, 
and  its  company  of  clean,  busy  children,  seemed 
to  her  like  heaven.  And  after  the  first  few  days 
nothing  could  keep  her  away. 

In  a  short  time  we  began  to  learn  of  the 
happy  eifects  of  her  school-life  in  her  miserable 
home — the  only  sunshine  that  ever  broke  into  it. 
She  would  hold  her  father  at  home  evenings  by 
teaching  him  the  songs  she  learned,  and  by  tak- 
ing him  through  the  exercises  she  practiced  at 
the  garten,  until  the  rough  man,  who  had  seldom 
given  a  thought  to  his  children,  actually  found 
pleasure  in  the  rigid  drill  of  his  infant  teacher. 

Annie  remained  in  the  school  some  time,  a 
year  or  two,  I  think,  sometimes  coming,  faint 
with  hunger,  because  there  was  nothing  in  the 

house  to  eat,  but  always  coming.     One  Thursday 

9 


130  ZEN  AS  PRICE. 

morning,  on  reaching  the  garten,  she  appeared  to 
be  ill  somewhat.  The  wind  was  cold  and  bleak. 
The  rain  poured  down  in  torrents.  Her  mother 
had  tried  to  persuade  her  to  remain  at  home, 
but  so  strong  was  her  desire  to  be  present,  that 
the  mother  finally  carried  her  the  entire  ten  blocks. 

That  proved  to  be  Annie's  last  day  in  our 
school.  At  the  close  of  the,  to  her,  delightful 
tasks,  she  went  home,  and  at  the  close  of  the 
day  said  to  her  mother : 

"Mamma,  I  can't  breathe  any  more." 

Then  throwing  her  tired  little  body  on  the 
bed,  she  lingered  a  few  hours  and  quietly  passed 
away.  It  was  well  she  did. 

That  pale  face  was  a  stranger  to  the  smiles 
of  childhood.  That  still  heart  had  experienced 
next  to  nothing  of  its  joys  and  pleasures.  But 
as  the  shadows  of  this  world  will  finally  melt 
into  the  glories  of  the  life  eternal,  so  the  face 
of  the  child  lighted  up  with  peace,  as  the  end 
came.  She  no  more  needed  our  care. 


ZEN  AS  PRICE.  131 

But  what  had  little  Annie  done  here  ?  What 
service  had  she  rendered  ?  Her  tiny  hands  had 
indeed  accomplished  little.  But  her  sweet  ways 
and  winsome  words  about  heaven,  of  which  she 
often  talked,  led  at  least  one  of  the  family 
to  long  to  enter  there.  This  was  Zenas,  our 
Spartan-souled  boot-black. 

After  the  hearse  and  carriage  had  driven  away, 
on  the  day  she  was  carried  forth  for  burial,  Zenas 
said  to  me,  the  only  attendant  at  the  funeral : 

"Let  the  rest  of  'em  go  to  the  buryin'  groun'. 
I  '11  stay  home  an'  tidy-up  the  place,  an'  have 
something  warm  for  the  children  to  eat  agin  they 
git  back,  for  they  haint  eat  scarcely  a  bite  to-day." 

So  he  kindled  a  fire  in  the  rusty  old  stove, 
and  swept  about  with  the  stump  of  an  old  broom, 
striving  to  "tidy-up"  the  place.  Meanwhile  L 
endeavored  to  tidy-up  the  spirit  of  the  unselfish 
boy,  and  kindle  a  little  warmth  and  light  in  his 
darkened  soul. 

"Yes,"  he  replied,  in  response  to  some  words 


132  XKNAS  PRICE. 

of  encouragement,  u  I'm  goin'  to  do  my  level 
best  to  git  the  folks  out  o'  this  awful  poverty. 
You  see,"  he  added,  turning  toward  me  a  look 
of  utter  helplessness,  "  there  's  such  a  poor  .show 
for  a  fellow7  fixed  like  me.  There's  father,  he's 
a'most  blind.  Mother,  she's  allers  ailin',  and 
the  youngsters  is  sickly  mostly.  I  tell  ye,  it 's 
a  big  load  to  carry,  speshly  when  bizniz  is  dull. 
Boot-blackin'  in  San  Franciso  aint  as  good  as  't 
us't  to  be,  when  stocks  was  up.  Me  an'  my 
pardner  rustle  around  mighty  lively  ;  but  do  our 
best  we  can  't  make  much.  So  take  it  all  to- 
gether, it's  well  on  to  discouragin'." 

"I  tell  you,  Zenas,"  I  replied,  as  cheerily  as 
possible,  "  there  is  a  Father  in  Heaven,  who  is 
not  blind.  He  has  his  eye  upon  tfcose  who  do 
their  best,  and  often  helps  them  in  a  way  they 
can  not  see.  He  says,  in  the  Bible  :  '  Call  upon 
me  in  the  time  of  trouble  and  I  will  answer  thee." 
He  is  a  true  friend,  Zenas,  and  delights  to  be 
trusted." 


ZFXAS  PRICE.  133 

"I  was  thinkin'  about  that,  when  little  Annie 
di<jd,  there  on  that  heap  o'  rags,  yesterday.  Then 
I  prayed,  all  to  myself,  the  best  I  know'd  how. 
1  don't  know  as  'twas  the  Lord  heard.  Any- 
how. I  didn't  feel  as  bad's  I  did;  kinder  felt 
lighter  like. 

"Git  to  meetin' !  Ye  see,  I  can't  git  to  no 
sech  place,  cause  Sunday 's  the  best  day  for 
hizniz.  We  git  more  shines  on  Sunday  than  all 
the  rest  of  the  week  put  together. 

"I  take  it  that  God,  an'  all  them  that's  up 
in  Heaven,  understands  how  glad  we'd  be  to  git 
off,  like  other  folks,  an'  hear  the  singin'  of  the 
nice  hymns.  But  ye  see  we  can  't.  The  folks 
here,  at  home,  can  't  starve  for  the  sake  o'  pray  in' 
and  singin'.  I  reckon  them  all,  that  'tends  to 
things  up  there,  won't  charge  it  agin  me  an'  Joe, 
if  we  do  the  best  we  can." 

"No.  not  if  we  do  the  best  we  can,  Zenas ; 
but  we  must  try  to  please  God,  and  shun  all  evil. 
Talk  your  troubles  over  with  your  Heavenly 


134  ZEN  AS  PRICE. 

Father,  every  day,  with  an  honest  heart,  just  as 
you  would  if  you  could  see  Him.  Try  to  serve 
Him  in  every  thing  you  do.  That  is  doing  your 
best.  God  has  promised  to  uphold  such  with 
his  hand.  Meanwhile,  my  boy,  I  will  see  what 
can  be  done  towards  getting  ^ou  other  employ- 
ment. Keep  up  a  brave  heart.  I  believe  affairs 
will  mend  before  long." 

"Ye  see,"  he  replied,  a  little  anxiously,  "I 
think  giving  shines  is  the  best  for  me.  I've  bin 
doin'  that,  well  on  to  a  long  time,  an'  do  n't  know 
any  thing  else.  It's  honest  work,  if  it  isn't  so 
fine,  and  may  be  I  couldn't  do  what  you'd  git 
me  so  's  to  please  the  folks.  An'  here  's  Joe,  my 
pardner,  we  've  bin  together  until  we  're  'tached 
to  each  other.  It  might  be  ha,rd  to  sep'rate." 

This  led  me  to  observe  that  the  boy's  "pard- 
ner" had  been  present  at  the  funeral,  and  had, 
during  all  this  conversation,  been  moving  about, 
doing  whatever  little  thing  he  could  1o  lighten 
Zenas's  burden  ;  thus  making  himself  a  "  pardner" 


ZEN  AS  PRICE.  135 

in  the  boy's  sorrows,  as  well  as  in  his  work  of 
giving  shines. 

Indeed,  out  of  sympathy  for  the  bereaved 
boy,  Joe  had  put  up  his  box  and  brushes,  for 
the  day,  and^had  paid  no  attention  to  business. 
I  was  amazed  at  these  displays  of  friendship, 
courtesy,  and  fine  feeling,  on  the  part  of  these 
children  of  dire  poverty.  Could  the  most  refined 
among  us  have  done  better  ? 

From  that  day,  with  a  great  purpose  in  his 
heart,  Zenas  began  to  battle  anew.  For  a  year 
he  fought  steadily  and  bravely,  never  letting  a 
shine  escape  him,  but  doing  his  level  best  to 
meet  the  daily  wants  of  a  peculiarly  helpless 
family.  The  struggle  was*a  terrible  one,  and  as 
hopeless  as  terrible.  More  and  more  as  the  boy 
grew  older,  did  he  hunger  for  even  the  better 
things  of  this  life. 

He  knew  there  was  a  different  and  a  better 
way  of  living,  than  that  practiced  in  his  own 
lowly  home ;  but  the  path  to  it  seemed  to  him 


136  ZENA8  PRICE. 

very  long  and  choked  with  difficulties.  Heavier 
each  month,  grew  the  task  of  providing  for  the 
family.  And  soon  life,  as  well  as  hope,  began 
to  fade.  The  being  always  alert  for  business 
wore  upon  him,  not  less  than  did  the  exposure, 
in  all  kinds  of  weather. 

The  boy  had  hoped,  especially  since  the 
funeral,  that  his  mother  would,  in  time,  make  a 
tidier  housekeeper  and  a  gentler  woman.  The 
prospect  for  this  appearing  hopeless,  he  finally 
left  his  home,  and  rented  a  little  room  in  the 
house  of  a  poor,  but  orderly  ^  Christian  woman, 
living  in  a  narrow  street,  far  down  toward  the 
water  front,  and  there  took  up  his  abode,  for  the 
little  time  remaining!  Here,  indoors,  when  the 
day's  work  was  done,  Zenas  found  the  quiet  he 
craved.  The  place  seemed  a  little  foretaste  of 
the  heaven,  he  now  thought  much  about.  At  the 
same  time  the  boy  continued  his  efforts  for  the 
support  of  his  parents. 

But  one  day,  toward  the  last  of  Summer,  he 


ZEN  AS  PRICE.  137 

kill  down  his  brushes  and  ceased  "giving  shines." 
He  had  a  brief  illness,  during  which  he  talked 
much,  to  the  tender-hearted  woman  who  cared 
for  him,  of  little  Annie,  but  never  once  expressed 
a  desire  to  get  well.  Just  before  he  fell  asleep, 
looking  up  into  her  face,  he  said  : 

"I  have  never  had  any,  home." 

Then,  folding  his  hands  across  his  breast,  the 
poor,  storm-spent  boy  closed  his  eyes  and— 
died.  His  was  a  fine  spirit,  planted  among  all 
that  was  low  and  depressing.  He  struggled  to 
keep. himself  above  it,  and  to  lift  others  out  of  it. 
The  latter  he  could  not  do.  The  former  he  did, 
so  far  as  he  was  able ;  but  he  died  before  the 
work  was  done. 

In  the  interval  between  poor  Annie's  depart- 
ure, and  his  own  death,  I  had  quite  lost  sight 
of  Zenas,  and  but  for  a  trifling  circumstance, 
might  never  have  known  of  it.  One  morn- 
ing my  attention  was  called  to  a  notice,  in 
one  of  the  daily  papers,  of  the  funeral  at  ten 


138  ZEN  AS  PRICE. 

o'clock  that  day,  of  "  Zenas  Price,  aged  sixteen/' 
The  services  were  to  be  held  at  No.  98  San  Lo- 
renzo Street.  That  is  our  Zenas,  I  said,  at  once 
deciding  to  attend  the  funeral.  Then  preparing 
myself  for  the  street,  I  went  out  to  find  the 
place,  probably  two  miles  distant. 

Entering  a  street-car  I  rode  to  the  vicinity 
of  the  post-office,  where  I  encountered  a  dense 
blockade  of  vehicles,  which  branched  far  out  into 
several  streets.  It  being  near  the  time,  I  left 
the  car  and  endeavored  to  thread  my  way  through 
the  press  of  people  on  the  sidewalk.  It  was  a 
difficult  task,  and  I  finally  stopped  short,  turned 
around,. and,  in  casting  my  eyes  over  the  mass 
of  wagons,  teams,  and  men,  in  the  hope  of  dis- 
covering a  means  of  escape,  I  saw  drawn  up  by 
the  curbstone,  half  a  block  distant,  a  plain  hearse 
and  one  carriage,  evidently  waiting  for  the  streets 
to  clear.  Pushing  through  the  crowd,  I  reached 
the  spot  and  inquired  of  the  driver  of  the 
carriage  where  he  was  going. 


ZEN  AS  PRICE.  139 

"To  98  San  Lorenzo  Street." 

"I  too  am  going  there,"  I  said,  telling  him 
my  name.  "  Take  me  in  and  get  me  there  in 
good  time,  and  I  will  make  it  all  right  with  the 
owner  of  the  carriage.  I  know  him." 

Arrived  at  the  place,  I  found  the  dead  lad 
was  indeed  Annie's  brother.  There  were  present, 
to  shed  a  tear  over  his  remains,  only  his  own 
family,  the  kind  soul  who  had  ministered  to  him 
during  his  short  illness,  his  faithful  and  sorrowful 
"pardner,"  Joe,  and  myself. 

The  father,  too  bereaved  for  utterance,  sat  in 
silence  not  far  from  the  body  of  his  boy.  But 
the  mother,  with  less  refinement,  loudly  bewailed 
their  misfortune,  saying : 

"It's  too  bad.  The  whole  support  of  the 
family's  taken  away.  Zenas  was  a  good  boy. 
If't  had  only -bin  that  one" — designating  the 
next  eldest  son — "'twould  n't  have  mattered 
much.  He  's  sickly  like,  an'  can  't  earn  the  bread 
he  eats,  an'  never  will." 


140  ZENAS  PRICE. 

Thus  did  the  unwise  woman,  hardened  by 
Death's  taking  her  best,  revenge  herself  by 
sending  a  dart  into  the  heart  of  her  living  son, 
thereby  inflicting  a  wound,  the  pain  of  which 
would  last  as  long  as  he  lived. 

There  were  offered  for  these  wretched  people, 
a  few  words  of  earnest  prayer,  after  which  they 
all  gathered  into  the  one  carriage,  and  followed 
the  hearse  through  the  noisy  thoroughfares  quite 
unnoticed.  Not  one  of  all  the  busy  throngs 
dreamed  what  a  heroic,  determined  spirit  had 
struggled  in  that  coffined  body.  He  fought  to 
overcome  disappointment  and  poverty.  They 
vanquished  him  instead. 


VT. 


one  of  our  large  Western  cities,   not 
many  miles  from  where  I   write,  there 
lives  a  boy,  who  manages  to  get  more 
enjoyment  out  of  life  in  a  week,  than   do 
most  of  his  class  in  a  month. 
"  How  does  he  do  it  ?" 
Simply  by  spending  his  time  profitably. 
He  has,  however,   some  unusual  ways   of 
accomplishing  this. 
"What  are  they?" 
The  following  is   one  of  them,  and  may  be 

141 


142  CLINTON  MATHEWS 

adopted  by  any  youth  who  has  the  courage  to 
choose  a  good  course  and  steadily  pursue  it. 

Besides  being  a  pupil  in  one  of  the  city 
schools,  Clinton  Mathews  is  obliged  to  perform  a 
certain  amount  of  labor  daily.  Notwithstanding 
this,  he  has,  for  several  years,  had  the  habit  of 
procuring  from  the  public  libraries,  books  which 
treat  of  all  kinds  of  birds  and  insects,  a  branch 
of  natural  history  for  which  he  has  cultivated  a 
great  fondness. 

Whenever  the  lad  has  an  hour  of  leisure,  he 
puts  such  a  book  under  his  arm,  and  flees  to 
some  field,  orchard,  or  garden,  not  far  away, 
and  there,  with  its  help,  learns  to  distinguish 
many  of  our  native  birds,  either  by  their  songs, 
their  plumage,  the  structure  of  their  nests,  or  the 
number  nnd  color  of  their  eggs.  On  other  occa- 
sions he  studies  the  strange  but  very  interesting 
customs  of  the  worms  and  other  insects,  with 
which  the  earth  teems  almost  everywhere. 

Sometimes   he   confines  a   number  of  these 


CLINTON  MA  THEWS.  143 

curious  creatures,  in  boxes,  at  his  home,  for 
several  days  together.  This  he  does  in  order  to 
study  their  habits  more  leisurely.  Frequently 
he  puts  a  variety  of  them  in  one  box.  Then 
there  is  an  opportunity  for  study. 

Not  many  weeks  ago,  I  paid  a  visit  to  his 
mother,  who  is  an  old  acquaintance.  A  morning 
or  two  after  my  arrival,  I  heard  a  brisk  knock  at 
the  door  of  my  room.  I  knew  Clinton  was  the 
visitor,  and  invited  him  in.  The  little  fellow's 
face  always  beams  with  animation,  and  his  dark 
eyes  are  wonderfully  expressive.  That  morning 
they  fairly  blazed  with  pleasure.  Coming  toward 
me,  he  said  : 

"Mrs.  Wilbur,  I  have  come  to  invite  you  to 
step  down  to  the  woodshed  and  take  a  look  at 
my  Vesper-Birds.  But  before  you  go,  I  should 
like  to  have  you  listen,  for  a  moment,  to  these 
friends  of  mine." 

Then,  taking  from  under  his  arm,  a  box  large 
enough  to  hold  a  couple  of  pounds  of  candy,  he 


144  CLIXTOX  MATHKWS. 

held  it  close  to  my  ear.  Such  a  whirring,  hum- 
ming, and  buzzing  I  never  heard  ! 

" Look  now!"  he  said. 

A  piece  of  glass  covered  the  top.  Through 
this  I  could  see  twenty,  perhaps,  different  kinds 
of  insects  moving  about  at  a  lively  rate,  and 
filling  the  air  with  their  music.  Some  were 
wriggling  up  the  sides  of  the  box.  Others  were 
crawling  over,  or  under,  their  companions.  Not 
one  was  still.  They  were  black,  brown,  drabbish- 
gray,  and  variegated  in  color. 

"Don't  be  alarmed,"  he  said,  answering  the 
question  of  my  face.  "  They  are  very  active, 
but  not  in  the  least  degree  dangerous,  or  even 
quarrelsome.  I  simply  wanted  to  see  how  they 
would  act  in  such  close  quarters." 

"Well,  what  is  the  result?"  I  asked. 

"Barnum's  Happy  Family  never  behaved 
better.  Not  one  of  them  has  had  a  wing  torn 
off,  nor  a  leg  broken.  Not  one  has  committed 
murder,  even  in  the  second  degree,  and  if  I 


CLINTON  MATHEWS.  145 

understand  their  talk,  they  are  getting  lots  of  fun 
out  of  my  experiment.  May  I  let  them  out  on 
your  carpet  a  moment,  Mrs.  Wilbur?" 

"Not  unless  you  first  let  me  out  of  the  room. 
I  should  make  a  sorry  picture,  standing  on  a 
ohnir." 

Clinton  laughed  at  the  very  thought,  and 
said  :  "  Oh,  I  just  wanted  you  to  see  what  capers 
they  cut,  when  left  to  go  their  own  ways.  The 
amusing  part  of  it  is,  that  although  so  friendly 
when  boxed  in,  this  way,  the  instant  they  are 
set  free,  the  most  of  them  begin  to  run  from  the 
others,  in  all  directions." 

"  Well,  I  think  I  can  imagine  all  that.  Shall 
I  accept  your  invitation  to  see  the  Vesper-Birds  ?" 

"Yes,  Mrs.  Wilbur,  and  you'll  say  they  are 
fine  little  fellows.  But,  whew !  did  n't  I  have  a 
lively  time  catching  them !  How  I  should  like 
to  be  able  to  cleave  the  air  the  way  birds  do ! 
What  lands  I  'd  visit !  What  wonders  of  rocks, 

and  mountains,  and  waters,  I  'd  see !" 

10 


146  CLINTON  MA  THEWS. 

"  There 's  a  way  to  see  all  these  things  with- 
out wings,  my  little  friend.  Keep  at  doing  some 
right  thing  for  a  few  years,  after  you  leave  school. 
Neither  drink  up,  nor  burn  up,  your  money,  and 
the  chances  are,  that  you  will  some  day  see  most 
of  the  earth's  grand  sights ;  for  steam  carries  one 
the  world  around,  you  know." 

We  were  now  down  stairs  and  about  to  enter 
a  small  apartment  at  one  end  of  the  coal-house, 
where  Clinton  kept  his  "  collection  of  curiosities," 
as  he  called  it. 

He  had  really  given  the  place  somewhat  the 
appearance  of  a  museum,  and  in  arranging  his 
treasures  had  displayed  no  little  originality.  For 
instance  :  On  the  wall  opposite  the  door,  were 
the  words,  "  Walk  in,"  spelled  with  glossy  bugs 
of  different  colors;  and  on  the  wall  at  the  right, 
appeared  the  sentence,  "Look  at  us,"  formed  of 
butterflies,  striped,  spotted,  and  bright  yellow. 

My  first  thought  on  looking  around  the  room, 
was?  that  Clinton  had  taken  the  lives  of  these 


CLINTON  MA  THEWS.  14  7 

pretty  creatures,  simply  for  the  purpose  of  car- 
rying out  these  rare  conceits  ;  but  upon  careful 
inspection,  I  found  that  each  butterfly  and  each 
bug,  differed,  in  some  respect,  from  all  the  others, 
and  had  really  served  as  an  object-lesson  for 
him,  in  his  hours  of  happy,  devoted  study.  But 
turning,  finally,  to  the  birds  fluttering  in  a  cage 
near,  I  asked  : 

"  Pray,  what  sort  of  feathered  folks  are 
Vesper-Birds,  Clinton  ?" 

"Oh,  sparrows,  Mrs.  Wilbur.  You  see  there 
are  several  kinds  of  sparrows  native  to  this 
country." 

"Do  they  sing?" 

"Yes,  indeed.  Did  n't  you  hear  them,  during 
the  concert,  a  little  after  sunset,  last  evening  ? 
and  again  this  morning,  when  it  grew  suddenly 
dark,  just  before  that  shower?  One  would  sup- 
pose Professor  Vocalli  himself  had  trained  some 
of  them.  Why  !  one  of  Theodore  Thomas's  open- 
air  concerts  is  nothing,  to  some  these  birds  get  up." 


148  CLINTON  MATHEWS. 

I  saw  that  Clinton  had  attended  some  con- 
certs, not  given  by  sparrows,  and  therefore  knew 
what  he  was  talking  about;  but  desiring  to  learn 
how  thoroughly  he  had  acquainted  himself  with 
the  habits  of  the  Vesper-Bird,  I  asked  again  : 

"Do  these  birds  never  sing  when  the  sun 
shines  ?" 

"Oh,  yes!  A  burst  of  sunshine,  after  rain, 
makes  them  fairly  pour  out  their  music.  But 
their  time  for  grand  singing  is  between  sunset 
and  dark.  Then  they  can't  be  beat.  First,  one 
pipes  up.  Then  all  in  the  neighborhood  set  in, 
until,  the  first  thing  you  know,  you  are  listening 
to  a  tiptop  'musicale,'  as  singing  people  say. 
And  not  one  of  the  star  singers  charges  one  hun- 
dred dollars  a  night,  Mrs.  Wilbur." 

"Decidedly  generous  in  the  birds,  Clinton; 
but  tell  me  what  part  the  Vesper-Birds  take  in 
the  sublime  anthem  at  day-dawn." 

"They  are  always  on  hand,  and  together  with 
the  Hair-Bird,  lead  off  in  the  morning.  They 


(  7,  /ATO.Y  MA  TRKWS.  149 

hold  the  audience  until  the  robins  get  ready. 
They  never  '  have  a  sore  throat;'  are  never 
•without  their  notes;'  are  never  hurt  if  other 
birds  receive  more  favors."  Then  turning  to  me 
in  a.  comical  manner,  the  boy  inquired  : 

"  Mrs.  Wilbur,  do  you  ever  get  up  at  four 
o'clock  in  the  morning?" 

;;  Never,  if  I  can  have  my  way  about  it.  But  I 
heartily  approve  of  early  rising  for  young  boys/' 

A  smile  lighted  up  his  interesting  face  as  he 
answered  :  "Well,  here's  a  fact  for  you.  Some 
things  must  be  learned  before  breakfast,  if 
learned  at  all.  Had  you  been  here  last  Thursday 
morning,  and  been  willing  to  get  up  as  early  as  I 
did,  you  would  have  found  out  what  the  Vesper- 
Birds  are  about  at  day-break.  I  was  on  hand 
that  morning.  A  little  after  four  o'clock  I  crept 
down  stairs,  very  softly,  so  as  not  to  waken 
mother ;  slipped  out  the  back  door,  and  ran,  like 
a  deserter,  out  to  Mr.  Good's  pasture,  just  to 
hear  these  musicians  sing. 


150  CLINT( >  A'  MA  THE  WS. 

"You  see.  In  that  field  there  are  a  good 
many  clumps  of  bushes,  and  a  number  of  tall 
trees.  These  make  chapels  and  cathedrals  Cor 
the  birds  to  worship  in.  At  least  I  like  to 
imagine  so." 

"  That  was  making  a  very  i  big  effort,'  as 
boys  say;  were  you  paid  for  it?" 

"Paid!  Mrs.  Wilbur,  I  wouldn't  have 
missed  that  performance,  if  you  had  given  me  a 
railroad,  and  made  me  take  the  strikes  with  it. 
Before  it  was  over,  half  the  warblers  Mr.  Flagg 
writes  about,  were  on  the  spot.  There  were 
prima-donnas  in  nearly  every  tree -top.  I 
wanted  a  bushel  basket  full  of  bouquets  to  throw 
at  them. 

"I  attend  concerts  with  my  mother,  some- 
times, and  hear  men  and  women  sing  in  a  way 
that  makes  my  nerves  tingle.  But  not  one  of 
them  is  a  match  for  these  birds.  It's  all  very 
well  in  the  Opera  House,  though.  But  just  set 
a  woman  and  a  Vesper- Bird  to  warbling  in  a 


CLINTON  MA  THE  WS.  151 

tree-top,  thirty  or  forty  feet  above  the  ground, 
or  even  down  among  the  grass,  and  which  voice 
do  you  think  would  win  the  applause  ?" 

"I  think  the  feathered  singers  would  have  a 
decided  advantage  in  either  case,  Clinton.  But 
how  is  it'  that  the  songs  of  the  birds  delight 
you  so?  They  are  not  uttered  in  words,  and 
express  no  sentiment." 

Here  the  boy's  handsome  eyes  assumed  one 
of  their  peculiar  expressions  as  he  replied : 

"Do  the  words  convey  so  much  more  senti- 
ment than  the  music,  Mrs.  Wilbur?  Often,  at 
the  best  concerts,  the  words  of  the  songs  are  in 
a  foreign  language,  and  I  have  no  idea  of  their 
meaning,  so  I  just  listen  to  the  music.  I  do  the 
same  thing  down  in  the  pasture.  I  like  to  lie 
under  the  trees  and  fit  my  thoughts  to  the  notes 
of  the  birds.  Arid  I  have  done  such  a  thing  as 
to  leave  the  field  with  tears  in  my  eyes ;  for 
the  songsters  often  set  me  to  thinking  of  the 
One  who  made  the  birds  and  me." 


152  CLINTON  MA  THE  WS. 

"  That  is  nobly  said,  Clinton.  Now  tell  me 
in  what  respect  the  Vesper-Bird  differs  from  the 
song-sparrow/' 

"They  look  as  nearly  alike  as  do  twin- 
brothers.  The  Vesper-Bird  is  distinguished  by 
the  greater  length  and  sweetness  of  its  song,  and 
by  these  white  feathers  on  the  side  of  its  tail. 
A  fellow  never  puts  his  hands  over  his  ears 
when  they  tune  up.  I  hope  you'll  take  a  walk 
through  Lotus  Avenue,  some  evening  while  you 
are  here.  There  they  do  their  level  best. 
They  '11  give  you  a  serenade  which  no  string- 
band  can  equal.  Why!  I've  known  them  to 
get  wild  with  joy,  in  the  tops  of  those  waving 
elms." 

"  I  '11  take  the  walk,  my  boy,  any  time  when 
you  will  accompany  me.  Just  now,  however,  let 
ine  say  a  word  in  behalf  of  the  song-sparrow. 
He  is  really  "a  singer  of  wonderful  charm  and 
deserves  higher  rank  than  you  give  him." 

"Oh,  accord  him  the  Gold  Medal,  if  you  like, 


CLINTON  MA  THK  WS,  153 

Mrs.  Wilbur.  I  think  he  deserves  it,  every  time 
I  hear  him  run  through  his  seven  tunes.  You 
can  tell  exactly  how  he  feels  in  each  one.  In 
the  first  he  may  be  very  sad ;  in  the  next  terri- 
bly spiteful ;  while  in  the  third,  he  will  get  off 
grand  flourishes  which  make  you  feel  you  'd  give 
all  the  world  to  be  able  to  sing  like  that." 

"I  think  I  have  read,  somewhere,  that  the 
Vesper-Bird  and  the  song-sparrow  come  North 
together,  in  the  Spring.  Is  that  true  ?" 

"  They  make  their  appearance  about  the  same 
time,  both  arriving  in  March,  before  a  flower  is 
in  bloom.  Spring  cheats  them  a  little.  In  their 
warm  Winter  quarters  they  forget  the  cool  tricks 
she  plays  upon  us  up  here." 

"  On  what  do  all  these  birds  live,  prin- 
cipally ?" 

"On  seeds,  though  they  don't  turn  their 
backs  on  insects.  The  young  sparrows,  espe- 
cially, are  supplied  with  dainty  worms  every 
day.  Near  towns  and  cities,  and  on  farms,  also, 


154  CLINTON  MA  THEWS. 

the  soil  abounds  with  insects.     There  are  not  so 
many  in  the  woods." 

"  This  fact,  then,  accounts  for  the  multitude 
of  fine  singing-birds  found  in  such  localities,  and 
for  the  few  usually  seen  in  the  silent  forest." 

"Yes,  you  see,  working  the  soil  causes  many 
kinds  of  birds  and  bugs  to  multiply  rapidly ;  and 
being  the  natural  food  of  many  classes  of  birds, 
wherever  the  bugs  are  plentiful  the  songsters 
congregate. 

"You  remember  the  large  field  west  of  Mr. 
Williams's  house,  Mrs.  Wilbur  ?  Well,  he  plowed 
it  last  year,  and  now  it  fairly  swarms  with  crea- 
tures which  hop,  fly,  crawl,  and  wriggle.  Every 
day  hundreds  of  sharp-eyed  feathered  people 
banquet  there,  and  do  n't  pay  any  dollar  for  their 
dinner." 

"I  have  long  known  that  orchards  and  gar- 
dens are  the  Summer  homes  of  numerous  elegant 
singing-birds,  but  have  always  supposed  they 
frequented  such  spots  to  get  the  fruits  and  seeds." 


CL1NTOX  MA  THEWS.  1  55 

"Throw  in  the  bugs  and  worms,  Mrs.  Wilbur, 
and  you'll  have  their  whole  bill  of  fare." 

Bv  this  time  the  intelligent  boy  must  h«ve 
been  aware  that  I  knew  almost  nothing  about 
birds  and  their  habits;  yet  nothing  in  his  man- 
ner indicated  that  he  thought  his  knowledge 
exceeded  mine.  I  therefore  felt  very  comfort- 
able, and  for  a  few  moments  longer  continued  my 
efforts  to  obtain  information,  saying : 

"  I  suppose  these  birds  rear  only  one  brood 
each  season?" 

"That's  a  slight  mistake,  Mrs.  Wilbur.  The 
song-sparrow  often  brings  up  two,  and  sometimes 
three,  families,  in  one  season.  She  begins  laying 
in  April,  and  frequently,  cool  Autumn  weather 
is  upon  her,  before  the  last  brood  says,  ;  good- 
bye' to  the  nest." 

"Now  please  tell  me  the  color  of  the  Vesper- 
Bird's  egg.  I  have  quite  forgotten  it,  if  I  have 
ever  known." 

"  They   are   white,   tinted    with    green,   and 


1  56  CLINTON  MA  THE  WS. 

speckled  with  brown.  If  I  find  a  nest  of  them, 
some  time  when  you  are  in  the  city,  you  shall 
see  them." 

"I  presume  you  are  not  in  the  habit  of  rob- 
bing bird's-nests  ?" 

"No,  indeed.  I  never  take  one  egg  from  a 
nest,  even  for  a  good  purpose,  without  feeling  as 
if  I  had  kidnaped  a  child.  Imagine  how  my 
parents  would  feel,  to  come  home  some  time, 
and  find  me  stolen,  with  no  possibility  of  recov- 
ering me." 

"Well,  I  hope  I  may  have  an  opportunity  to 
see  the  Vesper-Bird's  egg,  without  your  commit- 
ting that  sort  of  larceny.  And  I  hope,  too,  to  be 
as  well  informed,  some  day,  as  yourself,  in  re- 
gard to  our  native  sparrows.  There  are  several 
members  of  the  family,  I  believe." 

"Yes,  three  or  four.  I  have  read  about 
them,  but  don't  know  them  by  sight.  They  are 
all  highly  respectable  birds,  though." 

"  Seems  to  me  the  Vesper-Birds   are    rather 


CLINTON  MA  THE  WS.  1 5  7 

aspiring,  to  build  their  nests  in  the  uppermost 
branches  of  tall  trees." 

"  You  have  read  the  books  upper  side  down, 
Mrs.  Wilbur.  They  take  no  stock  in  gales  and 
hurricanes.  Not  they !  They  rather  choose 
tufts  of  tall  moss,  or  clumps  of  low  bushes  in 
quiet  places,  as  homes  for  their  baby  birds. 
Now,  if  you  please,  I  will  set  my  insects  free." 

When  this  was  done  we  turned  away  from 
the  miniature  museum,  and  walked  through  the 
garden  among  the  flowers.  Here  I  discovered 
that  the  lad's  knowledge  of  plants,  quite  equaled 
his  information  relating  to  birds.  But  the  greater 
wonder  was,  how  he  managed  to  so  pack  the 
facts  away  in  his  mind  as  to  readily  bring  them 
forth,  when  wanted. 


is  he  ?" 

As  interesting  an  animal  as  any 
boy  ever  saw,  and  homelier  than  the  goat. 
Hundreds  of  boys  have  heard  and  read  of 
him  under  a  less  musical  name.  Many  an  old 
family  Bible  contains  a  picture  of  him,  and 
he  figures  in  all  attempts  at  portraying  the 
Savior's  triumphal  entry  into  Jerusalem. 

But  let  me  sketch  him  with  a  half-dozen 
strokes  of  my  pen.  Here  he  is  :  With  head 
small,  body  short,  legs  short,  feet  tiny,  and  coat 

158 


THE  BURRO.  159 

rough.  In  color  he  is  white,  bay,  reddish-gray,  or 
dark-brown,  just  as  it  happens.  He  is  brave, 
strong,  patient,  faithful,  intelligent,  shrewd,  and 
affectionate.  He  is  sure-footed,  capable  of  hard 
service,  and  fitted  for  perilous  mountain  traveling. 

Is  there  a  boy  living  who  possesses  such  a 
list  of  excellent  traits  and  qualifications  ?  What 
other  good  "characteristics  could  you  ask  in  an 
animal  designed  for  use  among  men,  unless  they 
be  fleetness  and  beauty  ? 

Alas !  the  droll  little  burro  is  endowed 
with  neither  speed  nor  good  looks.  But  he  can 
do  that  which  a  horse,  however  fleet  or  hand- 
some, can  not  do — eat  any  thing,  from  his  mas- 
ter's coat  to  a  sack  of  flour.  The  creature  will 
thrive,  it  is  said,  upon  food,  on  which  the  ox  or 
horse  would  starve. 

But  has  the  quaint,  sober-  little  burro  no 
vicious  qualities  ?  Listen  !  under  favoring  con- 
ditions, some,  it  maybe  all,  of  them,  are  sly, 
artful,  and  full  of  mischief,  In  other  words, 


160  THE  BURRO. 

they  are  not  perfect,  as   are  never  their  riders 
and  drivers. 

In  some  sections  of  the  country  the  burro  is, 
quite  unknown.  You  would  find  few,  if  any,  of 
them  in  Massachusetts  or  Maine.  But  in  Ari- 
zona, New  Mexico,  and  most  of  the  States  west 
of  the  Rocky  Mountains  they  are  daily  to  be 
seen.  And  throughout  those  parts  one  hears  no 
end  of  humorous  stories  about  their  cunning 
and  sagacity. 

As  I  have  before  remarked,  the  burro  is 
sometimes  called  by  another  name.  That  by 
which  he  is  known  east  of  the  Mississippi  River 
I  have  sometimes  heard  boys  apply  to  a  play- 
mate. It  may  hare  been  done  in  either  a  flash 
of  temper  or  in  a  spirit  of  fun'  In  either  case, 
however,  the  playfellow  received  a.  fine  compli- 
ment, unless,  indeed,  like  some  burros,  he  was 
sly  and  disposed  to  cheat. 

But  under  all  other  circumstances,  we  advise 
a  boy  to  refrain  from  calling  a  companion  "an 


THE  BURRO.  161 

ass,"  unless  he  really  desires  to  ascribe  to  him 
noble  qualities.  And  much  less  let  him  bestow 
the  name  upon  a  boy,  d^)  of  understanding,  for 
our  brute  friend  is  any  thing  but  a  stupid 
animal,  and  the  term  would  therefore  be  utterly 
misapplied. 

The  burro  plays  an  important  part  in  affairs, 
in  mountainous  Arizona  and  New  Mexico.  One 
morning,  while  spending  a  few  days  in  that  queer 
old  Spanish  town,  Tucson,  on  the  line  of  the 
Southern  Pacific  Railway,  in  Arizona,  I  stepped 
hurriedly  into  the  street,  on  my  way  to  the 
post-office.  I  had  barely  touched  the  graveled 
sidewalk  when  I  was  brought  to  a  sudden  stand- 
still, by  the  sight  of  five  grizzly  burros  trudg- 
ing by,  heavily  ladened  with  "  mesquite  wood/' 
a  timber  much  used  for  fuel  throughout  all  that 
region. 

The  wood,  cut  in  lengths  of  three  feet, 
and  piled  several  layers  high,  was  bound  upon 

the  back  and  sides  of  each  meek-looking  animal, 

11 


162  THE  BURRO. 

with  strong  ropes.  It  was  the  first  time  I 
had  seen  such  a  sight.  What  grotesque-looking 
figures  they  were  !  How  unlike  wagons  loaded 
with  wood !  Immensely  large  in  the  middle, 
they  suddenly  disappeared  at  both  ends. 

Though  in  .great  haste,  I  stood  watching 
them,  until,  turning  a  corner,  they  vanished  from 
view,  my  respect  for  them  increasing  with  every 
step  they  took.  They  were  doing  a  useful  work  ; 
in  a  homely  way  helping  on  the  necessary  affairs 
of  the  world.  A  gentleman  told  me  the  little 
fellows  had  brought  the  wood  from  the  Santa 
Catalina  mountains,  twelve  miles  distant,  and 
that  a  large  proportion  of  the  fuel  burned  in 
Tucson  and  other  towns  of  the  Territory,  is 
transported  from  the  encircling  mountain  ranges 
on  the  backs  of  these  hardy  little  creatures. 
Each  burro  carries  about  one-third  of  a  cord. 

Arizona  is  a  wonderful  part  of  the  United 
States.  It  is  made  up  of  dreary  deserts,  fertile 
valleys,  broad  table-lands,  or  mesas,  and  noble 


THE  BURRO.  163 

mountain  chains.  These  mountains  teem  with 
minerals  of  inestimable  value. 

Scattered  over  the  Territory  are  men  from  all 
parts  of  the  United  States,  and  from  every  land 
on  the  globe,  busy  digging  for  gold,  for  silver, 
copper,  and  other  precious  substances. 

The  trying  to  discover  these  minerals  is 
called  "prospecting"  for  them.  In  this  part  of 
the  mining  pursuit,  the  intrepid  burro  acts  a 
leading  part.  He  not  only  carries — frequently 
for  long  distances — the  prospector's  outfit,  of 
bed,  tent,  tools,  clothing,  and  provisions,  but  he 
transports  also  much  of  the  ore  from  the  mines 
to  the  smelters  near,  or  conveys  it  to  the  rail- 
way stations,  whence  cars  take  it  to  smelters 
more  remote. 

When  a  prospector  is  about  to  set  out  on  a 
trip  to  hunt  for  gold,  or  silver,  with  a  burro  for 
his  assistant,  and  perhaps  his  only  companion,  he 
brings  the  animal  to  the  door,  places  a  pack-sad- 
dle upon  his  back,  and  upon  that  piles  his  luggage. 


164  THE  BURRO. 

Then  off  go  the  two,  to  encounter  they  know 
not  what,  of  hardship  and  peril.  But  whatever 
of  good,  or  ill,  happens,  they  will  share  together. 
If  they  have  previously  made  such  journeys  in 
company,  they  understand  each  other  as-  thor- 
oughly as  do  an  intelligent  horse  and  his  master. 

If,  however,  they  are  uniting  their  fortunes 
for  the  first  time,  each  will  quietly  study  the 
other  until  he  is  sure  of  what  material  he  is 
made.  Not  unlikely  the  four-legged  prospector 
will  "make  up  his  mind,"  sooner  than  will  the 
man,  for  the  innocent-looking  quadruped  seems 
to  possess  wonderful  tact  for  reading  the  disposi- 
tion of  people,  while,  on  the  other  hand,  it  is  a 
question  if  a  man  can  be  found,  who  so  thor- 
oughly understands  burro  nature,  that  he  may 
not  for  a  time  be  deceived,  by  a  wity  specimen 
of  the  race. 

Should  they  prove  to  be  congenial,  and  should 
their  rambles  together  continue  some  time,  quite 
likely  there  will  spring  up  between  them  an 


THE  BURRO.  165 

attachment,  which,  though  unromantic,  is  cred- 
itable to  both. 

Not  long  ago  I  heard  an  experienced  pros- 
pector relate,  that  while  searching  for  silver  in 
some  lonely  mountains,  months  previously,  night 
overtook  him,  far  from  human  abode. 

Undaunted  by  the  circumstances,  he  spread 
his  bed  on  a  dry,  narrow  plateau,  and  laid  him- 
self down  to  sleep,  leaving  his  burro  un tethered 
to  crop  grass  as  he  might  be  able.  The  loyal 
creature  not  only  remained  close  at  hand  all 
night,  but  came  occasionally  and  rubbed  his  nose 
over  his  master's  face,  as  if  to  assure  him  that 
he  had  a  friend  near. 

Under  such  conditions  the  miner  seldom  teth- 
ers his  burro  unless  he  is  a  thief  of  a  very 
shrewd  sort.  A  plundering  burro  usually  dis- 
plays plenty  of  sagacity.  His  first  aim,  when 
purposing  to  appropriate  something  that  does  not 
belong  to  him,  is  to  divert  all  suspicion!  from 
himself,  until  his  master  "puts  faith  in  him." 


166  THE  BURRO. 

This  he  accomplishes  by  assuming  an  air  of  inno- 
cence and  indifference,  and  by  leisurely  walking 
about  as  though  no  thought  of  mischief  were 
brewing  in  his  diminutive  head.  And  then,  the 
moment  an  auspicious  opportunity  arrives,  he 
coolly  "  walks  into  "  any  thing  in  the  line  of  pro- 
visions, which  his  owner  has  imprudently  left  in 
his  way. 

"  What  happens  then  ?" 

Very  probably,  a  strong  rope  and  a  sturdy 
tree,  some  rods  from  camp,  prevent  all  subsequent 
displays  of  morals  so  depraved. 

Occasionally  one  meets  with  a  burro  afflicted 
with  a  roving  disposition,  as  are  some  boys.  He 
may  not  pine  to  go  to  sea,  nor  hunger  for  the 
sights  of  a  great  city ;  but  he  would  like  to 
know  if  the  twigs  are  not  more  tender,  and  the 
grass  sweeter,  beyond  his  master's  claim ;  or  if 
neighboring  burros  do  not  fare  better  than  he. 
And  forthwith,  to  test  these  points,  he  runs  away. 

"What    is    the    outcome    of    such    folly?" 


THE  BURRO.  167 

Thereafter  his  partner  in  the  mining  business 
"  hobbles  "  him — ties  his  feet  together. 

A  gentleman  long  familiar  with  the  charac- 
teristics of  the  burro,  says  he  never  knew  one  to 
stumble,  even  when  traversing  the  most  danger- 
ous mountain  paths.  Contrarily  he  had  seen 
them  stop  at  a  suspected  point,  carefully  scan 
the  way  before  them,  and  then  proceed  with 
great  caution. 

Not  long  ago,  a  burro,  heavily  loaded,  was 
making  his  way  along  a  *  perilous  trail,  when 
suddenly  he  halted,  pushed  the  ground  in  front 
of  him  vigorously  with  his  little  foot,  as  if  to 
ascertain  if  it  would  bear  him  and  his  burden, 
and  having  satisfied  himself  as  to  that,  was  seen 
to  proceed  on  his  way.  Bancroft  Library 

The  following  is  a  still  more  remarkable  in- 
stance of  burro  reasoning.  It  was  related  to  the 
writer  by  a  relative,  a  bright  woman  living  near 
Los  Angeles,  in  California,  who  rode  one  of  the 
most  spirited  of  these  animals  across  the  Isthmus 


168  THE  BURRO. 

of  Panama  during  the  gold  excitement  in  Cali- 
fornia, the  trip  being  made  in  1850  or  '51.  The 
little  fellow  was  reliable,  intelligent,  and  fall  of 
spirit.  His  possessing  these  qualities,  rendered 
him  valuable  as  a  leader  for  trains  just  starting 
for  the  Western  coast.  Nothing  could  prevent 
his  going  forward. 

Mounted  upon  him,  and  at  the  head  of  a  long 
caravan,  the  lady  proceeded  on  the  ever-to-be- 
remembered  road,  until  she  approached  a  swift 
mountain  stream,  across  which  there  was  a  bridge 
of  slender  poles.  The  burro  did  not  like  the 
looks  of  the  bridge. 

Halting,  he  surveyed  the  structure  thor- 
oughly ;  then,  turning  to  one  side,  he  went  to 
the  brink  of  the  stream  and  calculated  the 
chances  of  crossing  without  thanks  to  the  poles. 
The  prospect  was  not  very  assuring.  So,  re- 
tracing his  steps,  he  marched  to  the  edge  of  the 
bank,  on  the  other  side,  and  scanned  the  scene, 
but  with  no  fairer  promise  of  success.  Then 


THE  BURRO.  169 

returning  to  the  front  of  the  bridge,  he  made  a 
sudden  spring  and  landed  on  the  opposite  bank 
without  touching  the  work,  and  before  his  rider 
had  the  slightest  hint  of  his  intention. 

"What  became  of  the  lady?"  I  hear  the 
reader  ask. 

She  found  herself  thrown  completely  out  of 
her  saddle,  and  seated  upon  the  neck  of  the 
burro,  who,  very  obligingly,  did  not  move  until 
she  was  ready  for  progress. 

One  sunny  Winter  morning  I  happened  to 
be  returning  from  a  walk  in  the  outskirts  of 
Tucson,  when  there  crossed  my  path  a  lad  of 
some  fifteen  years,  mounted  upon  one  of  the 
reddish-gray  burros,  so  common  in  that  vi- 
cinity. He  was  riding  without  equipment  of 
saddle,  bridle,  or  whip.  Both  rider  and  beast 
appeared  to  be  bound  on  some  urgent  errand, 
and  to  have  a  perfect  understanding  as  to  how 
they  would  do  it. 

The  burro,  trotting  slowly  along  the  glaring, 


170  THE  BURRO. 

white  street,  with  his  patient  eyes  looking  straight 
into  distance,  appeared  ludicrously  solemn  and 
woe-begone  ;  while  the  youth,  bare-headed,  hands 
thrust  into  his  pockets,  and  elbows  at  right 
angles  with  his  body,  leaned  forward  a  little  in  his 
seat,  gazed  into  vacancy,  and  forgot  where  he  was. 

I  laughed  outright,  Boy  and  burro  were  of 
exactly  the  same  color — were  one  creature — 
with  but  one  thought. 

As  we  were  speeding  over  the  sandy  stretches 
of  New  Mexico  one  day,  numbers  of  short,  stout 
Indian  women  were  seen  riding  upon  similar 
grizzly  burros.  They  rode  in  a  free-and-easy 
fashion,  which  betokened  a  feeling  of  perfect 
safety,  and  appeared  delighted  with  their  exer- 
cise in  the  brisk  morning  air. 

Once  or  twice,  as  our  train  drew  up  at  an 
embryo  town  in  the  desert,  these  women  trotted 
alongside  and  offered  us  baskets  of  nuts  for  sale, 
which  they  had  gathered  on  the  mountains. 
Some  of  them  were  profusely  decked  out  with 


THE  BURRO.  171 

ornaments  and  trinkets,  and  appeared  greatly 
pleased  if  we  noticed  them. 

The  native  population  of  Old  and  New 
Mexico  adhere  tenaciously  to  many  of  their  an- 
cient customs.  As  did  their  twice  great-grand- 
fathers, so  do  they.  For  instance  :  They  scorn 
to  thresh  grain  with  modern  machinery,  but 
tread  it  out  with  animals,  as  did  the  farmers  as 
far  back  us  Gideon's  day. 

At  this  business  they  set  the  nimble-footed 
burro,  who  acquits  himself  quite  as  creditably 
at  treading  out  breadstuff's  as  at  eating  them. 

The  burro  is  considered  notably  safe  as  a 
riding  animal  for  women  and  children,  and  hence 
is  much  employed  by  the  Mexicans  for  saddle 
purposes.  But  the  case  is  far  different  among 
some  of  the  proud  Indian  tribes  of  Arizona. 
They  disdain  such  humble  means  of  locomotion. 
They  are  the  owners  of  fleet  horses,  and  greatly 
delight  to  mount  them  and  dash  away  at  break- 
neck speed  over  the  hills  and  mesas. 


172  THE  BORRO. 

The  Papago  Indians,  particularly,  are  said  to 
exult  over  their  fleet  coursers,  and  as  the  owners 
of  such  property,  they  bear  themselves  as  arro- 
gantly as  does  the  noble  white  man.  And  like 
him,  the  Indian  holds  at  an  exorbitant  figure,  his 
animals  that  are  distinguished  for  speed. 

The  story  is  told,  that  a  gentleman  engaged 
in  mining  operations,  in  the  mountains  near  Tuc- 
son, received  notice,  only  about  an  hour  before 
the  time,  that  he  was  wanted  on  important  busi- 
ness, at  a  point  twenty  miles  distant. 

Calling  immediately  upon  the  chief  of  the 
Papago  tribe,  then  in  the  city,  he  inquired  if  he 
had  a  horse  which  could  make  the  distance  in 
that  time.  The  chief,  turning  away  with  a 
lordly  air,  soon  led  to  the  door  a  fine-looking 
animal.  The  man  mounted  him,  and  reached  his 
destination  in  about  seventy  minutes.  On  his 
return  he  offered  the  chief  five  thousand  dollars 
for  the  horse,  but  he  refused  it. 

In  journeys  where  thirst  has  to  be  endured, 


THE  BURRO.  173 

i 

the  strong,  or  fleet  horse  is  no  match  for  the 
hardy  little  burro.  The  latter  has  been  known 
to  go,  from  five  days  to  a  week,  without  water, 
and  when  it  was  obtained,  to  take  but  a  mod- 
erate draught — a  pailful,  perhaps. 

Although  strikingly  plain-looking,  the  burro 
has  a  fine  reputation  for  courage.  In  this  respect 
he  excels  that  savage  denizen  of  the  mountains, 
the  cougar.  It  sometimes  happens  that  the 
burro  is  drawn  into  a  fight  with  one  of  these 
ferocious  beasts.  In  such  cases  he  always  holds 
the  odds  in  his  own  favor  to  the  end.  An  ad- 
mirer of  burro  wisdom  and  prowess  says  :  "  He 
never  invites  a  quarrel  with  the  cougar;  but  if 
attacked,  he  never  runs." 

The  burro's  effective  weapon  in  such  battles, 
is  his  teeth.  With  them  he  brings  his  assailant 
to  terms  in  short  notice. 

In  illustration  of  this,  an  instance  has  been 
mentioned,  in  which  two  juvenile  burros  were 
compelled  to  measure  lances  with  a  vicious  old 


174  THE  BURRO. 

cougar.  Taking  their  stand,  one  on  each  side  of 
the  brute,  they  used  their  teeth  to  such  advan- 
tage, that  their  assailant  wisely  concluded  that 
the  cougar— 

"Who  fights  and  runs  away, 
Will  live  to  fight  another  day." 


.,, 


